


To Raise a Daughter

by jellijeans



Series: bound by blood (fe7) [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Major character death - Freeform, Spoilers, also parents bc........lov...., companion fic, love me some heclyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:59:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellijeans/pseuds/jellijeans
Summary: He thinks of Durban’s warning, and it’s almost as if he can feel Armads back in his hands for a second, but there are things he must address before he even begins to think of his death; Sacae must be absorbed into Ostia, the Lycian League must confer, and most of all, Ostia must have an heir.He and Lyn decide that if the heir is a son, they will name him Uther. Hector cannot imagine having a daughter; as much as he jokes about it, he thinks he’s too much of a brute, far too indelicate to raise one.(He would like to have a child that could be with Eliwood’s child the way he and Eliwood once were, too, if he’s being honest with himself.)And yet despite all the odds, five years later, Ostia has an heiress; a beautiful girl named Lilina, and Hector is taken with her right from the start.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> companion fic to "to raise a son"!!

The funeral comes after the coronation, and Hector never ceases to find it odd how quickly Ostia can go from celebrating to mourning.

He had requested they be on the same day, of course; no point in celebrating the new marquess’ life without acknowledging the previous one’s death, and he had wanted Eliwood to be there for it. Now that they’re both stepping into their new positions, there’s no telling when the next time he’ll see his old friend will be; Lyn is there all the time, of course, because Caelin is part of Ostia now (that’s his first task as marquess, actually), but Eliwood—

—well, he’ll miss their sparring, to say the least. That won’t be happening for a while.

 

Alongside Eliwood, of course, is Ninian; as per Pheraen tradition, they both wear all black, whereas Lyn dons Lorcan funeral attire; Lyn cries, as she does, and even Eliwood can’t help but shed a few tears—reasonable, of course; Uther was as much a brother to Eliwood as he was to Hector—

—but Hector doesn’t cry. He didn’t when Uther died, and he certainly has no intention to now.

(And Lyn hates it, and he knows she does, but he must be strong. He must. Like Uther.

It’s what he would have wanted, he believes. After all, they were brothers—they are—were, he supposes—all they had, and Uther is gone, so he must believe.

It’s all he has.)

 

And it’s painful, for sure, to look into the face of his own brother and know that he’s not _really_ there; it’s just the remnants of him that are left behind, and no matter how much makeup the noble ladies put on him to try to make him seem alive again, he’s gone. And Hector _hates_ how the other aristocrats mourn Uther as if they didn’t scorn him in life, as if their eyes had not constantly been on the two of them, as if they had not questioned every decision he had made while he was alive, and it’s not Armads slung around his hip anymore—just the Wolf Beil—but his right arm still makes its way for it anyway, clenching the knob of it and shaking. He wouldn’t _do_ anything, of course, but after so long fighting, just the feel of it in his hands is a reassurance when nothing else is left—

—and then there’s the feeling of Lyn slipping her hand into his other, and Eliwood gently prying his fingers off of the axe, and he scrunches his eyes and wills the tears away, knowing that what Uther would have really wanted is for him to find strength like this—two friends, there unconditionally. Something still left, and something that won’t go away.

 

Unlike Lyn and Eliwood, Hector wears armor; a part of Ostian tradition, of course. “Corrupt neither the body nor the mind”, as Uther had always taught him. One must never be weak, not even when facing death. The one difference is that the armor is almost entirely ceremonial, midnight black with a sweeping cloak to match; Uther’s armor has been removed, left to hang in the Great Hall alongside those of their ancestors.

(Hector hopes he can fill it one day, but in truth he doubts he can; the hole Uther has left in their lives is immeasurable.)

 

When they close the casket, also following Ostian tradition, those who aren’t close to Hector leave; burial is sacred, so the Ostians say, so only those truly close to the person in life may be there to see them off in death. Eliwood, Ninian, and Lyn stay by his side while the whole ordeal occurs; Lyn is out of tears, Ninian follows suit, but Eliwood...

Eliwood had grown up with Uther, too, Hector recalls. He, too, had been sent to Ostia for schooling, and of course had stayed with Hector while he was there; as much as he had grown up with Hector, he had grown up with Uther watching over him as well. Uther had always had a soft spot for the gentle Pheraen boy, and Eliwood had had one for Uther in turn as well.

It’s Eliwood who sniffles when they begin the burial, and before he knows it, a sniffle turns into a cry turns into a sob, and Hector’s arms are around Eliwood before he can even say anything.

(It was like this when Eliwood had lost his father; out of the three of them, he had always been the one to feel when the other two couldn’t.)

“I’m sorry, I—I shouldn’t be the one crying, it’s not like he was _my_ brother—” Eliwood gasps out between sobs, and Hector shakes his head.

“No, in a way...in a way, he was. You grew up with him just as well as I did.”

“Hector...”

Hector’s gaze steels on the casket as the last bit of dirt is thrown over it, and then his brother is once again part of the earth, once again out of his reach.

“He would be proud of you,” Lyn says softly, watching as Eliwood composes himself and returns to Ninian’s side. She laces an arm through his, and Hector wraps his arm around Lyn’s waist and pulls her close, and for a moment, they are still children, still the seventeen year olds they were when their journey first started, and then the journey changes them all over again, and instead of three naive lordlings from Lycia and one traveling dancer, they are the Marquesses and Marchionesses of Ostia and Pherae, deprived of tribe and father and brother, and life will not go back to the way it once was.

 

-

 

After one last spar and bidding their farewells, Hector and Lyn see Eliwood and Ninian out of Ostia; with their new duties, Elimine knows how long it will be before Hector sees Eliwood again beyond a brief diplomatic handshake at a conference. They very well could have children by then, Hector thinks.

“I’m sad to see them go,” Lyn says simply. Hector looks at her, and she shrugs. “We spent so long journeying with the two of them, and now...it all ends with them going home?”

“We’ll see them again,” Hector says, and Lyn squeezes his hand.

He thinks of Durban’s warning, and it’s almost as if he can feel Armads back in his hands for a second, but there are things he must address before he even begins to think of his death; Caelin must be absorbed into Ostia, the Lycian League must confer, and most of all, Ostia must have an heir.

He and Lyn decide that if the heir is a son, they will name him Uther. Hector cannot imagine having a daughter; as much as he jokes about it, he thinks he’s too much of a brute, far too indelicate to raise one.

(He would like to have a child that could be with Eliwood’s child the way he and Eliwood once were, too, if he’s being honest with himself.)

 

-

 

And yet despite all the odds, five years later, Ostia has an heiress; a beautiful little girl named Lilina, and Hector is taken with her right from the start.


	2. Chapter 2

 

If Eliwood and Ninian are like water, gentle and adaptable and ever-changing, Lyn and Hector are like fire; hot-headed and passionate, burning what doesn’t shy away from them. That’s how they clear their path; for as long as they’ve known each other, that’s how it’s been—with their enemies, with their plans, even with each other.

And yet, Lyn is amazed with Hector’s patience and gentle persistence, always present and never falling to anything.

 

Despite his insistence that he would be too brutish for a daughter, he’s surprisingly careful; careful with her, careful with Lilina, always the first one up if either one of them need anything—Lyn would have never imagined Hector would be like this as a father. Hector never tires; he’s always by her side, or by Lilina’s when she can’t be, and she appreciates it more than words can say. He’s completely in love with the two of them, and although she misses the plains of Sacae, she would never return if it meant it would keep her away from Hector and their daughter.

 

(And she falls more in love with both of them each day, too; especially with Hector, on all of the evenings where she comes back from a long day appeasing the other nobles’ wives and he has fallen asleep on the armchair with Lilina wrapped in his arms, dinner already made and waiting for her on the table.

And Lyn finds it so odd and yet so fitting that of all people, the mighty Ostian general would fall in love with the fleet-footed Sacaen warrior-turned-princess, and become something softer, something more tender than his armor would give away. He would spare no tears for his brother after so long, but she thinks Uther would smile at him if he saw his brother like this—unconventional as always, and maybe still a bit of a lout, but grown into someone he could truly be proud of.)

 

And surely enough, it’s one of those evenings again; as much as she’s tried to adopt Ostian culture, become the Marchioness that the Ostian people desire, to the noblemen and their wives, she’s still a spectacle, still the cute little savage come to fight at Lord Hector’s side. Hector would silence them all with just a glare if he were with her, but as Marquess, he’s not, and there are days when she must fend for herself.

She can, after all. It would be disbecoming for a Sacaen if she could not.

But it does get tiring.

 

“I’m going to kill them,” Lyn announces as she steps into the castle. As soon as she’s in their room, she throws her dress off and pulls on her Sacaen garb instead—ever more comfortable, and a big fuck you to the other nobles. “I’m absolutely going to kill them. I can’t stand them. I _can’t_.”

As soon as she’s spoken, Hector appears in the doorway, a sleeping Lilina wrapped in his arms; she can see the ink smudges tracing the side of his palm and the developing bags under his eyes—must have been a paperwork day, then.

“I’ll do it for you,” he says, voice a familiar rumble, and Lyn cracks a smile.

That’s Hector for you, after all.

He clears his throat. “But in all seriousness—I can have a word with the other nobles if you’d like. My brother might have been the type to let gossip be gossip, but I’m not exactly a sit-down-and-take-it kind of guy.”

“It’s fine,” she says, although she’s sure he can still feel the irritation radiating off of her skin.

“It’s not fine,” Hector says, but Lyn doesn’t respond. He frowns, and then his face lights up. “Actually, I know what’ll cheer you up. Take Lilina from me for a moment.”

“Hector, I—”

“This isn’t me pawning my responsibilities off on you,” he promises. “I’ve been planning something all day, since we both know the other nobles are absolute asses.” That gets a laugh out of Lyn, and he smiles before giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

(He does it in his own way, a very Hector way—definitely not bad, just a little chaste, a little rough around the edges, backed by a lot of passion.The kind of kiss that reminds her of the plains, but also of all of the reasons why she left, and all of the reasons why she continues to stay.

The kind of kiss that makes it worth it.)

She smiles against his lips and deepens it for a second before Hector pulls away, and then she mock pouts at him, taking momentary pleasure in just how quickly she had been able to redden his cheeks. He coughs awkwardly.

“G-give me a second! I really did prepare something!” He turns to rush off, and then spins back on his heel to plant a light kiss on Lilina’s forehead—

—Lyn doesn’t miss the way their daughter smiles, the way her tiny fists curl, and it brings a smile to her face, too—

—before coming back moments later, taking Lilina in one arm and extending his other arm to her.

“My lady,” he says cheekily, and Lyn scoffs.

“You’ll never be a proper Marquess if you say it like that,” she teases, and he laughs that booming laugh.

“My goal is to be a halfway decent father and husband first, you know.”

He leads her to the dining room, and on the table is a small, clearly homemade feast, but it brings a smile to Lyn’s face all the same; Hector may be crude, but he’s genuinely tried his best with this, and Lyn appreciates that, letting her hand linger on his for just a moment longer when he pulls out a chair for her.

“Did you make this all yourself?” she asks, taking in the smells. If she’s being honest, it smells heavenly; she had never perceived Hector to be a good chef, but he’s clearly not bad.

“I did,” he says, grinning. “All Ostian traditional foods. Not bad for a useless lout, huh?”

“Maybe,” she responds. They meet eyes and his gaze immediately softens, cheeky grin melting into a genuinely soft and tender smile; she can feel her cheeks heating up as she looks down, cutting herself another piece of steak. Sitting in Hector’s lap, Lilina squeals happily, and he pushes himself back a bit from the table to hold her up and smile at her, bouncing at her a bit and speaking nonsense to her. He’s so much softer with her than he is with anything else, and Lyn can’t help but find herself watching him; the role of a father seems to suit him so well. After a bit, he places her back in his lap where she sits contentedly as they finish their meal.

 

-

 

After they finish their meal, she retires earlier than he does, throwing on sleeping clothes and spending some time reading before doing one last sweep of the castle and going to bed; she stops by Lilina’s room last, finding herself standing quietly in the doorway, heart melting at what she sees.

 

In Lilina’s room, Hector sits in the great rocking chair, attempting not to drowse off himself while cradling Lilina against his chest; in his own off-key voice, he mumbles a lullaby to her, great hands gently rubbing up and down her back. She looks so small compared to him, such a delicate flower compared to the great hulk that her father is, and anyone could see plain as day that Hector would give anything for her already.

Even just the way he looks at her makes Lyn’s heart melt; his gaze is so gentle, as if looking at her wrong will break her, and when he lifts her gently to kiss her forehead again, she doesn’t miss the great smile that splits his face when Lilina makes a quiet noise at him. He continues rocking her for a bit until he’s sure she’s asleep, and then he places her carefully into her cradle, tucking her in gently and this time pressing a kiss to her cheek before leaving her room, almost bumping directly into Lyn on the way out.

“Oh, hey,” he says, flushing slightly looking away. Lyn raises an eyebrow, smiling.

“Didn’t want anyone to see you like that, huh, you big softie?”  
“It’s not like that,” he says, rolling his eyes, but she doesn’t miss the last glance he gives towards their daughter, or the little exhale that follows. “...we really made something incredible, huh?”

“We did,” Lyn agrees. She presses a kiss of her own against his cheek and relishes in the way he instantly relaxes against her, smiling. “That being said, it seems like a certain incredible someone else should go to bed.”

“Probably,” Hector agrees with a yawn. Instinctively, he loops her arm around his, and the two of them retire for the night, and the nobles don’t matter anymore; Hector’s love is enough of a reason for her to come to Ostia, and it’s enough of a reason for her to stay, no matter what the other nobles might think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE...........DAD HECTOR


	3. Chapter 3

The months pass, and despite their desperate want for another child, it remains just the three of them; Ostia quiets, and at least for a while, all is well.

 

(Still, Castle Ostia is huge, and Hector and Lyn can’t help but think it might feel the slightest bit cozier if their family was four instead of three.)

 

Then again, it seems as if every country in the continent has a handful of spies in Ostia; all eager to check out the slightly-less-than-new marquess, to investigate the foreign marchioness, steal a glance at the heiress with their own eyes. Hector remembers it being like this with Uther; when he had left on their journey, even though Uther had been marquess for a good while, there had been spies at every turn.

Hector can’t help but notice many of them have accents that sound strikingly like those from Bern—he tries to ignore the suspicion that tensions may be rising, and chooses instead to just focus on the now. No point in worrying about either the inevitable or things that might not even happen after all.

(After all, if he thinks about the possibilities of another war, the only thing that echoes in his head is Durban’s warning, and he doesn’t need to think about that quite yet. He would rather not leave Lyn or Lilina alone, doesn’t even want to think about forcing someone else to relive the same childhood he and Uther had, deprived of parents and only depending on each other.

After all, even after all that, he had still lost Uther, too. He still thinks Uther was a better marquess than he is, than he will ever be—the role had always been his first.

Uther was family first.)

 

Every day with Lilina is another debate about who she resembles more, about whether or not she’ll look more Sacaen or more Ostian in time, about what they’ll dress her in when she’s older; all lighthearted, of course, and with both of them knowing that what Lilina eventually decides to do will be entirely up to her. She’s still so young, just beginning to learn to speak, and Lyn takes full advantage of it, pointing out every vaguely Sacaen syllable to Hector when he huffs about her being the future Ostian marchioness, not Sacaen. Lyn always bursts into a laugh, Hector always laughs back at her, Lilina smiles; that’s just how it is with the three of them. A small family, but a family nonetheless.

“I would like to take her to Sacae one day, though,” Lyn muses one evening as she watches Hector play with Lilina, curled up next to him and babbling away at herself. Hector, his great hands gently encircling Lilina’s, listens intently to her nonsensical sentences, grinning every time she almost gets out a proper word. Seeing her grow tired, Hector picks her up and holds her against him, carrying her back to her crib.

“It would be a good experience,” Hector agrees, setting Lilina down and pulling a blanket over her. In a sense, Lilina is, after all, the future of the Lorca; only a fourth Lorcan at that, but aside from Lyn, all that remains of the once-proud tribe. “Besides, I’d actually get to see your homeland. I’ve only barely stopped in it on the way to another spar with Eliwood.”

“You would scare all the rabbits away,” Lyn teases. She smiles at how delicately her husband pulls the blankets over their daughter before giving them both a light kiss on the forehead. “With how heavy your steps are, you’ll sink right into the plains.”

“As if!” Hector scoffs. “I’ll have you know that without my armor, I’m probably faster than you are.”

“I doubt it. I bested you three times, after all.”

“Three times? I seem to recall it being closer to—”

“—we all know I didn’t marry you for the math, Hector!”

“Yeah, because you married me for my _jaw-dropping physique_ , which would seem to suggest that I would be faster than—”

“Oh, shut up,” Lyn says, getting up on her toes to kiss him. Hector winks at her as she does so, and she rolls her eyes, grabbing his collar and pulling him just a little bit closer, kissing him just a little bit more passionately. Hector mumbles something against her lips, and she pulls back for a moment, wiping her mouth against the back of her arm.

The nobles would judge her for that, she thinks, but what does it matter? They’re not the one married to the marquess, after all.

“...really desperate for that second child, huh?” Hector teases, and Lyn snorts. She guides them out of Lilina’s room, quietly closing the door behind them and rolling her eyes again.

“ _Father Sky,_ Hector! Way to ruin the moment!”

He’s about to burst into another laugh when she throws an arm around his neck and kisses him again, and she relishes in the noise he makes when her mouth is back up against his. It takes a moment for him to process the suddenness of her movement before he wraps his arms around her and lifts her, deepening the kiss from not only her side but his as well, and he doesn’t miss the way she smiles against his lips, breaking from the kiss every now and then only to litter the rest of her face with small pecks, tracing his way from her lips down her jaw to her collarbone, relishing every moment of it.

 

Once, neither of them had pictured love like this, so clashy and fiery and _hot_ ; in their minds, it had always been something more like what Eliwood and Ninian have, soft and gentle and slow—and yet upon finding each other, the heat had turned from something unpleasant into the best feeling in the world.

(And it doesn’t change when they both collapse onto the bed, desperate for each other and longing for that same feeling that they felt when they first met, and every day since then.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo this is a little spicier than what i normally write, but heclyn has a very different dynamic than most of the ships i normally gravitate towards, so i wanted to play with that a bit !! i'm still trying to figure out how to write hector and lyn, but i hope i'm doing a decent job at it !!
> 
> ALSO.........I FORGOT TO SAY THIS WITH YESTERDAY'S UPDATE BUT CONGRATULATIONS TO ELIWOOD FOR WINNING CYL3 I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AND I AM SO HAPPY HE WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> as always thank you so much for the continued support!!


	4. Chapter 4

There’s rarely time for Hector to spar like there once was; not just with Eliwood, but with  _ anyone _ . He and Lyn would go at it every now and then, and it always felt like Serra would end up patching both of them up, battered and covered in dark bruises even from just going at each other with wooden practice swords—ironically, aside from the physique, he thinks he might need it more now than he did when he was a teenager. Court is  _ infuriating _ .

 

He’s grown on the people of Ostia, he knows; he had already won some favor by the end of the war, given that he had commanded the entirety of the Ostian army as the general, but the nobles still judge him. In their eyes, he’s still the child, still angry and impulsive from the loss of his parents, still desperate to scramble out of his brother’s shadow and the eyes of the people.

What starts this whole affair after quiet years gone by is the recent ascension of his half-brother, Orun, to the throne of Thria; known for already being a peaceful and just ruler, he’s certainly left an impression on the Ostian nobles, who somehow consider Hector to be anything but.

Hector finds this ridiculous. It’s not like the  _ nobles _ ended the war, but then, if he says that, he’ll just prove their point further.

 

How much of being marquess is just sitting in silence, he wonders? Is this what Uther had to deal with?

(And there’s part of him that wonders if this is also an extent of Armads’ curse, if war is destined to follow him everywhere he goes before he succumbs to it, and he wonders how much time he has left, if there will be enough time to watch his precious daughter become a woman and if he can grow old with Lyn, or if it will claim him the same way it claimed so many of his allies back then, the same way illness claimed his family.)

 

When he returns to Castle Ostia, his wife and daughter are a welcome sight.

He immediately collapses onto the couch beside Lyn, who raises an eyebrow at him before ruffling his hair affectionately, bouncing Lilina lightly on her lap.

“Long day at court?”

“Now that Orun’s ascended, the nobles have no problem utterly picking me apart,” Hector says with a groan. “At least this means the spies will be relocating to Thria now.”

“It’s certainly a weight off of our backs,” Lyn agrees. She shifts, pausing from playing with Lilina for a moment to let her hair down, shifting her hair tie to her wrist as she does so, and Hector reaches up to gently run his hand through it as she turns her focus back to Lilina, who scoots off her lap to curl up against the armrest.

“I like your hair when it’s down,” Hector remarks. “It looks good up, too. You’re beautiful either way.”

Lyn quirks an eyebrow at him, hints of a smile tracing her lips.

“You don’t often compliment me like that, Hector.”

“Maybe it’s the exhaustion getting to my brain,” he jokes, and Lyn laughs, pulling him up to kiss him softly on the lips.

“You should get some more sleep,” she comments, watching her husband as he adjusts himself until his head is on her lap. “Ostia won’t benefitted by a leader who hasn’t slept since he was sixteen.”

“I’m trying my best,” he grumbles, and Lyn laughs, leaning down to kiss him again.

“I bet you are.” He shifts again and winces when Lyn’s knee presses against his shoulder blade, and the Sacaen certainly doesn’t miss it. “...do you want a back massage?”

“ _ Please _ ,” he says, and he sits up and turns so that his back is facing Lyn, turning around again momentarily when he hears Lilina becoming fussy, reaching her arms for him. He grins and picks her up, placing her delicately on his lap as Lyn begins to work his overworked muscles.

“You’re tense,” she comments, pushing the balls of her thumbs into the muscles by the base of his neck. He shrugs.

“Coming home to the two of you makes it all worth it,” he comments, gazing softly at his daughter.

Although he jokes about it, it’s almost like looking into a mirror, if he were twenty years younger and a girl; he can pick out softer versions of his nose, his mouth on her face, and of course his coloration; the light covering of hair on her head is the same shade of dark blue as his. Anything not from him is clearly from Lyn; she has the angular Sacaen eyes, among other things.

She’s nothing short of absolutely perfect.

 

She’s also tired, and she presses herself up against him with her head leaning on his chest, a small hand balling up against his shirt as she slowly drifts to sleep; carefully, he supports her with one hand, still so much greater than she is, and he’s reminded of how delicate she is, of how lucky he is, of exactly how much he has to protect. He wouldn’t give Lilina and Lyn up for the world, he thinks, gently holding his daughter. Nothing is worth more than this.

“I never want her to face what we did, Lyn,” he comments quietly, and Lyn stops.

“Hector?”

“The war, I mean.” He pauses before lightly kissing Lilina’s head, hoping for her to have a long and restful sleep. “It destroyed us. We were children—barely adults at  _ best _ , facing death at every turn. She’s...” he pauses again, scrunching his eyes. He had never understood how people like Eliwood would become so emotional so suddenly; he thinks he gets it now—it’s because they have something to protect, something that cannot protect itself and yet they love it more than anything else, and he’s found that in Lilina. Lilina is something he would give his life for, over and over again, without hesitation. He sighs, willing the tears away. “...she’s so  _ small _ , Lyn. I can’t imagine her facing the same things we did, losing our parents and then having to fight for all of Lycia as young as we were. I don’t...I don’t want a life like that for her. I want her to be safe. I want her to be...to be  _ happy _ .”

Lyn leans forward until her forehead rests on Hector’s back, shutting her eyes.  
“Neither of us will ever let that happen. We’re both still here, Lycia is at peace, and at least for now, nothing is threatening that.” She feels him shift against her as he shifts Lilina closer to him, tracing the pad of his thumb down the side of her face, and she exhales. “You’re a good father, Hector.”

“You think so?” he says. “...I was worried I wouldn’t be. It’s not like I can remember mine that well.”

“I think anyone can see that you’re doing amazingly,” she comments.

“...thanks, Lyn.”

"No problem."

 

She retires to bed earlier than him that night, and he merely sits on the couch with Lilina in his arms, thinking; Eliwood would joke that it’s not that often that Hector becomes truly pensive, and in a sense, that’s true, but becoming a father has given him something else to think about.

Lilina is so delicate, so small, and he can’t even think of her being older; it’s easier to picture an older person when they’re young, he thinks, than to imagine the features that will develop on someone who isn’t even old enough to truly understand what features  _ are _ yet. That’s even setting aside what she’ll  _ do _ —will she fight, the same way he did? Become an archer? A mage? Perhaps just a diplomat? Either way, he’ll support her, love her no matter what—he already does—but his one fear is that he won’t be able to protect her, that the world will somehow take her away from him and place her somewhere out of his reach, where he cannot come to protect her.

She is a flower in his arms, something so beautiful, but something that can wilt and die so easily; he would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to her. And he  _ hates _ himself for having to think of that, for considering that losing her is a possibility at all, but it’s never that simple. Death finds a way; for House Ostia, it always has, and he’s somewhat convinced that it always will.

Still, he understands it now, being willing to lay down your life for someone else. He understands what Uther and Lord Elbert must have felt, of that unique kind of protection that only really comes from being a father to someone; Uther wasn’t quite like that, but in a way, he was. He was his brother, after all. As brothers, they were all they had.

And as of right now, it’s just Lilina, no brother to watch over her, and so Hector makes up his mind that he will die whatever painful war-wrought death it takes for Lilina to be safe. He just desperately— _ so desperately _ —wants for her to be happy, and for that, he would give anything.

  
(But for now, she _is_ safe, asleep and peaceful in his arms, and as he leans back and drifts off to sleep as well, that’s enough.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy i'm so sorry that it's been so long since i've updated !!! i wanted to update last weekend, but unfortunately i was not feeling The Best so i didn't get around to it ;; but i hope you enjoy this chapter all the same !! i'm still getting the hang of writing hector, but god he is,,,,,, such a dad i love him So Much
> 
> as always, thank you so much for the continued support!!


	5. Chapter 5

Springtime hits Ostia in full force, and before Lyn knows it, all of the flowers across the territory are in full bloom; even the grasses, trodden upon along the sides of the roads, have returned to their pre-winter state, bright green and lush, and the world returns to color.

Ostia is much more of a metropolis than anywhere in Sacae, but in the early mornings, if she shuts her eyes, the wind through the trees sounds almost like home; she breathes in and the air is just like it is there, just like—

—and then she hears it, the trodding of wooden carts along the gravel, and she is back in Ostia, and the only thing that reminds her of home is Hector and her daughter, one simply because by his side _is_ her home and the other because she has the traits of a Sacaen delicately painted onto her face.

 

She had once told herself she would never leave Sacae, and if she did, she would always return; and yet, years later, she finds herself in Ostia, trapped in the rigid clothing that noblewomen wear, Sacaen garb tucked away behind the never-ending fabric of ballgowns and tunics and surcoats, one layer for each thing that stands between her and who she once was.

And behind all of them, the war, ever more prominent and ever more permanent than any dress could ever be.

 

(Even if she were still in Sacae, she’s not sure it would still be home anymore, without the rest of the Lorca, or her grandfather, or even without Hector—for everything she’s lost, he’s been right there beside her, and has become more of a home than she’d ever thought she’d know again.

And yet even Hector has his moments, times where fledgling knights will hit each other slightly too hard and one of them will yelp slightly too loud, where his hand immediately finds its way to the thing nearest to him that he possibly could use as a weapon, where his eyes go blank while he relives endless deaths that almost were—moments after where, in private, he collapses to his knees and knots his hands in his hair, telling himself things about Armads that she never quite hears as she walks in, and then he’s up, arms around her, shaking but not sobbing, merely taking solace in the fact that it’s over, and that she’s there at all.

He tells her the same thing every time.

“I’m so glad I didn’t lose you,” he says.

And every time, she tightens her arms around him, and responds:

“You won’t, and I won’t lose you, either.”

And every time, he doesn’t respond to that, merely pulls her tighter, as if he’ll never let go.

 

And every time, he does—

—and every time, she goes—

—and every time, he takes another moment to compose himself, and every time, he requests to do so alone, and every time, she doesn’t quite hear what he says as she leaves.)

 

Lyn has her moments, too, of course.

Nights where she wakes up having to restrain herself from screaming because even the slightest shift reminds her of the way she awoke the night that the bandits attacked, where the only thing she can think of is how she had struck down Uhai, a fellow Sacaen, with her own hands, or the way Eliwood had crumpled when his father had died in his arms, the pain they had all felt when he had screamed and cried when he had struck down Ninian—

—the way Hector had suddenly grown silent when he had found out about Uther’s death, and the way she had clung to him and sobbed when he had refused to do so himself.

Even that merely sets aside the never-ending battles she had been a part of, the endless amount of enemy soldiers who had been impaled and fallen on the edge of her blade, who she had watched as the life had drained out of them, pooling on the ground and turning everything scarlet and sticky, reeking of death and the promised lie of a better way.

 

Springtime in Ostia does not prevent her from having nights like these; she wakes up with yet another, one hand clenching itself over her mouth and the other scrambling for a blade that isn’t there, waking Hector in the process as she sits up in bed and gasps.

“...Lyn?”

Hector’s voice, though still tinged with sleep, crackles with fear and concern as he pushes himself up, resting a hand on her back, fingers relaxing against her spine as he realizes what’s going on.

“I’m sorry—”

He softly shushes her, then, and although she always wishes later that she would, she doesn’t take the time to appreciate the softness he shows, the tenderness that she rarely gets to see during everyday life. It’s a different side of him, something born out of hardship yet shaped by unconditional love and care, reserved for her and Lilina alone, ever-present as he leans forward to check on her, slowly moving her hand off of her mouth with his free hand before entwining his fingers in hers.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he murmurs. “I get it. You can take the woman out of the war, but you can never quite take the war out of the woman, huh?”

Lyn nods, shutting her eyes to prevent her tears from leaking out, and she squeezes his hand, exhaling quietly. Lilina is still asleep, after all.

“I want to go home,” she whispers quietly. “To Sacae. Back to my people.”

And she’s almost afraid of what he’ll say, that he’ll take it as her leaving him, as her wanting to go back forever instead of just going back to see the plains one more time, that he’ll tell her that she’s an Ostian now, that she can’t go back, and she doesn’t know _why_ she thinks he would, just that he might, that she’s truly the savage after all, that—

“Okay,” he says, and she looks up at him, blinking the tears away. “We’ll go. We’ll find time.”

“Hector?”

“I promise we’ll go,” he repeats. “I know it’s important to you. I don’t want to take away that side of you, courts be damned.”

She sniffles, trying to smile, but she can still feel the edges of her lips trying to tug themselves downward. Hector merely shakes his head, rubbing his hand up and down along her back.

“I’m not as good with words as Eliwood is, but even if the war doesn’t go away, I’ll still be here,” he says softly, and she exhales. “I won’t leave.”

He pauses, and for a moment, it’s almost like they’re teenagers again, watching the dying campfire after everyone else has gone to sleep, still just trying to get the words out of their mouth; Hector always struggled with it more than she did, and she smiles at the memory.

(Perhaps it wasn’t all bad. There are good things that stayed, too, she thinks.)

“I love you,” he says softly.

She smiles.

“I love you, too, Hector.”

A heavy silence falls between them for a second as he moves his hand from her back to the underside of her chin, thumb falling just below her lower lip as he turns her head towards him to kiss her lightly on the lips; she reciprocates, and like it always does, it grows into something much deeper much quicker, a mess of tiredness and half-asleep limbs, slow and soft and yet filled with yearning.

Nothing _happens_ , per se—nothing Eliwood and Ninian would flush and turn their noses at, at least—but as Hector and Lyn settle back down to bed, he’s quick to wrap his arms around her waist, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her neck and smiling as she relaxes against him, exhaling softly.

 

There will always be moments like this, she thinks, but at least for tonight, they are safe in each other’s arms, no Armads or whatever Hector whispers about to tear them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I UPDATED ;; i had tech for my show and then two weekends of performance, and after that i got sick and it was just hsskngdjskgnskgs
> 
> but anyway i PROMISE i will actually upload regularly now!! thank you guys so much for bearing with me and i hope you enjoyed this chapter!! it was fun to get into lyn a little bit since so far it's basically all been hector-centric, but i wanted to give our favorite princess some love also!!
> 
> as always thank you so much for the continued support!!


	6. Chapter 6

The rainy season hits Lycia the way it always does; almost overwhelmingly, but the flowers love it, blooming despite the skyborne tears that hit their petals one overwhelming drop at a time.

“I’m worried about Eliwood,” Lyn announces suddenly, walking into their room. She has a tiny Lilina cradled in her arms, their daughter curled up and quiet; as she’s grown older, she’s calmed down a bit, become certainly a quiet child but one silent in her elegance. Unusual for a toddler her age, certainly, but becoming of a young princess.

Hector looks up. It’s been eating at him too, of course, how their friend has been suffering as his wife slowly wastes away; it’s not like the Ostian ambassadors in Pherae haven’t kept him updated on how the marchioness is slowly decaying, how the marquess grows more and more heartbroken each passing day as her condition slowly gets worse and worse. His heart sinks.

“...he knew this would happen,” he says quietly, “but it doesn’t make it any less painful, huh?”  
“I can’t imagine what that would be like—to lose the love of your life like that, especially after only having her for such a short period of time,” Lyn comments, gazing down at Lilina and brushing a small lock of soft blue hair out of her face. “And poor Roy...he must have no idea what’s going on. I feel so bad for him.”

Hector bites his lip.

Ninian, at least, knew how long she had, and Eliwood knew, too. They were open— _honest_ about it with each other.

He gazes at Lyn, still lulling Lilina into sleep, and feels his heart drop.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it? We have to go visit him after—”

He pauses. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it, that she could suddenly be gone, and the air falls stagnant and sterile between them, because she doesn’t want to acknowledge it, either; instead, she just shuts her eyes and nods, not even letting out a breath.

“...we should. He’ll need it.”

The rain patters against their window, and Hector can only think of what it will be like for Lyn once he’s gone.

 

Lyn puts Lilina to bed and then immediately collapses into bed beside him, throwing an arm around his neck and burying her head into his back, and he can feel her softly shake against him as she quietly sobs, pulling him tighter.

“Lyn?”

She sniffles before letting out a legitimate audible cry this time, balling up her fist in his shirt before letting go and curling up, hugging her knees as she cries. Hector is immediately up, sitting on the bed and gently wiping her tears as she pushes herself up and wipes at her eyes.

“Hector, I—” she cuts herself off with another wracking sob, and he wraps his arms around her and pulls her onto his lap, head resting on top of hers as she leans into his chest. “I’m so—I don’t want Ninian to die, Hector! I—Nils let her stay, and I loved Nils, and we’re betraying him because she’s _dying_ and Eliwood is hurting so you’re hurting and I’m hurting and—”

“We’re not betraying Nils,” Hector says quietly, unmoving around her. Like Castle Ostia, a shield; he would rather die than let any outside harm come to her, let any intruder threaten her. She’s competent, more competent than he, surely, but at the same time, he’s sworn to protect her, and he’s not one to back down from a promise. “We’re not betraying Nils. He knew this would happen, too, and he let her go willingly. He knew Eliwood would give her a happy life, and he’s done that. And Eliwood is hurting, but he won’t be hurting forever, because we’re there for him, and you’re there for me and we’re there for you. It’ll be okay.”

She doesn’t respond, just curls closer to him, and he smiles sadly, softly at her as he wipes her tears.

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” he asks quietly, and Lyn shakes her head. He exhales. “Do you remember when Uther died, in the last battle, where you just held me and cried? Almost like this,” he says softly. Lyn scrunches her eyes.

“I only cried because you wouldn’t,” she says, mock-pouting. Despite her tears, he can see the edge of a smile on her face, too

“I knew I was in love with you then,” he says, and he watches as her cheeks immediately go blood red and her eyes shoot open.

“ _H-Hector!_ ”

“I know it sounds weird! I just...” he pauses, brushing her bangs out of her face as she looks up at him, eyes round and soft despite the red on her cheeks and her slightly agape mouth. “...you’re so strong, Lyn, but sometimes, you’re vulnerable, too, and I think that’s why I fell in love with you—because you’re _human_. Back then, everyone expected me to be something I couldn’t be—to fill my brother’s shoes—and then I could go back to you and I was a person again.”

“Hector...”

She shifts again, this time sitting across from him, arms by her sides and knees crooked in front of her. She brushes a long lock of green hair behind her ear, face soft and yet serious all at once.

Hector loves that about her, too.

“It’s okay to be human, Lyn,” he says. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, and you’re not weak if you cry. You’re the strongest person I know, not just for swordfighting or anything like that—you’ve gone through so much, and you’re still here. It’s okay to be hurting. It’s okay.”

She shuts her eyes for a moment, and he watches as tears leak out onto her cheeks, slow and desperate as she opens her eyes again, green meeting blue as Hector gently places a hand on the underside of her jaw and leans forward to kiss her on the lips.

When they pull apart, Lyn collapses onto his chest, fingers of one hand intertwined with his and her other hand thrown over her waist, exhaling.

“Hector?”

“Yes?”

“Please don't die.”

He doesn’t respond to that, and Lyn doesn’t respond, either, only closes her eyes and exhales, turning her face until it’s pressed against him and clenching his hand firmly in hers.

He tightens his grip around hers, too, dreading the day he inevitably has to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR THE GAP IN BETWEEN CHAPTERS ;; i know i mentioned this a couple chapters ago but my health (both physical and mental) hasn't been doing the hottest recently and also i was in europe on a music trip for like a week and a half without access to my laptop so jsdkgndsjkdn
> 
> this one got a bit angstier than tras a bit sooner lmao but uhhhhhhhh!!!!!!! it's just prep for the future chapters lmao so!!! enjoy the flangst
> 
> jskgnjsk thank you guys so much for being patient with my terror of an upload schedule ;;v;; i hope you enjoyed this chapter and will continue to enjoy the upcoming chapters all the way until the end of the fic!! thank you so much for the continued support!!


	7. Chapter 7

Like he always seems to be, Matthew is the one who tells him the news. He arrives at the gate of Castle Ostia with eyes slightly red, still damp from the tears and downcast, like they were when they found Leila, like they were when he came back, like—

With him, he carries a single blue forget-me-not, and Hector’s heart breaks.

“...she’s already gone?”

Matthew only nods, handing the flower to him before clenching his hands together so tightly that his unmoving fingers go white. “We just heard the news today,” he whispers quietly. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but he stops himself, merely closing his eyes. “I—Lord Hector, I’m sorry—”

“I get it,” Hector responds. “It was bound to happen, sooner or later. We all knew it was coming.”

Matthew studies his face for a moment, notices the unspoken pain that traces itself into every line of the marquess’ face, and nods. While not in quite the same way, Ninian was special to him, too—they had all loved her, in their own ways.

“How’s Eliwood doing?” Hector asks. Matthew looks down.

“...not well, my lord. I...you know how much he loved her,” the thief murmurs, and Hector nods.

 

There’s a moment of tentative silence between them, and Hector can feel how badly Matthew wants to reach out, to tell him that it will be okay and that Eliwood will be okay and that Ninian lived a good life, but Hector doesn’t shatter, doesn’t break, doesn’t even crack; he can’t be weak, must be strong for Eliwood, must be strong for Lyn, must be strong for Pherae and Lycia and even for Matthew and the few who knew Ninian personally, who all can hurt as the burden atop his shoulders. He can feel how badly Matthew wants him to just _feel_ , in the same way he once did with his brother, in the same way Uther reassured him he could, that it was okay to hurt in the face of adversity, that hurting doesn’t make you less human, that hurting is what _makes_ you human—but his people are not looking for someone _human_ right now. They’re looking for a leader, someone who will continue to lead Lycia on even as the marquess of Pherae must temporarily withdraw, not someone who on his own must sit down and mourn for a woman that’s not even _his_ wife. He cannot cry now. Not in front of Matthew, not in front of the Lycian people, not even in front of Lyn or Eliwood. He cannot cry now.

There’s no time—there’s _never_ time—for the marquess of Ostia to cry.

Not when there are people like Eliwood who need the tears most.

 

And Elimine, _Lyn_ —he’s not even sure how he’s going to tell her, with how upset she was just after hearing that Ninian was getting worse. He can’t bear to see her cry again, because as much as it reminds him that she’s human, that _he’s_ human, watching her go through that amount of horrible sorrow and misery and pain is unbearable.

He finds that he doesn’t even need to tell her, because no less than a second after that thought crosses his mind are Lyn’s arms wrapped around him, both of them surrounded by the busy streets of Ostia and yet never having felt more alone.

“Do you think Eliwood is okay?” she whispers, and her voice crackles, but he can’t bring himself to turn around and see if she’s crying, only focuses on not crying himself.

“Matthew said he wasn’t,” Hector says slowly. “I...I wouldn’t count on him being alright right now. You know how much he loves—er...” he pauses for a moment, wincing. “...loved her, I suppose. I doubt...I doubt he’s okay right now.”

He doesn’t see it, but Lyn purses her lips, head resting gently against his back.

“...are you okay, right now?” she asks.

 

So desperately, he wants to say no. So desperately, he wants to turn and hold her and cry, wants to turn to Eliwood and cry with him the way they did when they were boys, let out the feelings he’s been bottling up for so long, to just be reassured that everything is going to be okay, to not have to be the strong one for once, to not have to exist in this inescapable prison of a fortress he’s built up around himself, to just be able to cry and be comforted—

—instead, he doesn’t speak, just nods, as if somehow, his silence will make it go away.

(And, into his back, Lyn realizes what’s going on, finds herself once again locked out of the fortress, once again unable to find the key to her own husband’s heart, once again goes through unendurable loss in more ways than one, and into his back, Lyn sobs.)

 

Lyn takes her own time to mourn, like she always has done; she spends some time in the courtyard, finding peace with Father Sky and Mother Earth, sending prayers of tranquility for Ninian and of peace for Eliwood, and then after, she quickly retires to bed, asleep within seconds.

 

Hector mourns his own way.

He tucks Lilina into bed and then finds his way into his work quarters, resting his face in his hands—

—Elimine, he’s _so tired_ —

—and just exhaling, wishing the stress would just roll off of his shoulders, but instead, it compounds with every passing second, until finally, it grows too great, and the tears begin to roll down his cheeks one by one until he’s collapsed, hunched over against the desk and sobbing.

Ninian is gone.

Eliwood is hurting.

Lyn is hurting.

 _He_ is hurting.

And yet all he can do is bottle it up until he’s alone in his work quarters and then sob like a child, unable to even get out an intelligible thought—and half of him thinks he shouldn’t have to feel like this, but the other half thinks that this is ridiculous. He should be able to pull himself together, to be strong for his wife and his best friend and his people—

—but he’s lost a friend, too.

And the tears don’t stop flowing, provide no solace for him as the true gravity of the situation pulls him even further into the depths of his emotions, his anxieties, everything that’s built up since the end of the war—

—and beyond all that, the ever-present knowledge of the fact that one day, it will be his death that will leave someone else like this, too.

 

There was an Armads for Ninian, there’s an Armads for him, and the only thing he can think about is the fact that he can’t bear to put his friends through another heartbreak, can’t bear to watch another thing be taken away from the people who deserve the most, can’t bear to think of—

—of Lilina. Of leaving his poor daughter fatherless, of depriving her of his touch and his voice and his presence, of suddenly being gone in the same way that Ninian is to Roy, of giving her one less person to turn to in her darkest hours, of her having to grow up and live the rest of her life without her father by her side.

That is the true gravity of the situation, then, more harsh and cuttingly painful than any blade could ever be.

 

And at the same time, people at least knew about what was happening with Ninian. He had a warning, Lyn had a warning, _Eliwood_ had a warning; they knew her time would be cut short, that she would live a brief life at best in Elibe, and they accepted that for what that was and made the most of it.

He hasn’t told anyone about Durban’s curse. Hasn’t told anyone about his inevitable death, hasn’t told anyone about how he’s more or less living to die, hasn’t told anyone about the fact that he doesn’t even know when it’s going to happen, only that it’s going to happen at all—

—and maybe the fact that he doesn’t know when is the worst part, because it could be anywhere from tomorrow to an eternity from now, and he’s not even sure if he’ll be able to give them all a proper goodbye.

His fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white, hands shaking in rage and terror and sadness and _hurt_ , and the worst part is that he doesn’t even know what to do about it, and that tomorrow, he’ll just retreat back inside that fortress of his own creation, away from everything that scares him and yet locked in the same room with it all at once.

 

And Hector cries, and Lyn sleeps, and Eliwood mourns, until it seems like even the moon sheds a tear.

(and he still has that stupid forget-me-not clenched in his fist—

—and the petals wilt and fall off and die, one by one—

—and tear by tear, one by one, Hector cries.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY HECTOR I SWEAR I LOVE YOU
> 
> for those of you who read to raise a son, if you haven't already noticed, the chapters line up with tras' chapters (so you probably can estimate how this fic ends lol oops)! so ninian's death.......just one Big Toughie on Literally Everyone
> 
> i really hope that this chapter manages to really capture the sorrow i was hoping for it to !!! hector has a really deep personality that i wish the games had tapped into more bc he's quite sensitive but also doesn't want to be perceived as weak and just jskgnks i love him
> 
> i hope this chapter was up to your expectations!! as always thank you so much for the continued suppor!! ;;v;;


	8. Chapter 8

It’s an unspoken agreement between the two to visit Pherae just as soon as both of them have gotten their things together.

They leave as early as they can; even with a horse-drawn carriage, the journey still isn’t short, so Lyn finds herself with her head tucked into the crook of Hector’s neck, both of them exhausted and yet all too tense to sleep.

(She’s noticed his eyes are red, that every time he almost closes his eyes, he forces himself back awake, as if going to sleep reminds him of things that he’d rather not remember.

She always notices these things, just many times, can’t find it within herself to ask.)

 

They haven’t brought Lilina with them, fearing that such a situation may be too somber—alongside Matthew and Kent, the ladies in waiting, much as Lyn despises putting them to use, were more than happy to take care of her for the few days they would be gone.

Everyone understood, of course. Even in Ostia, Eliwood has always been beloved, always been treated like family.

Perhaps for not as long, but Ninian was that way, too.

 

Although it’s been untravelled by them for a long, long time, the journey from Ostia to Pherae always strikes Lyn as odd; Hector and Eliwood quite literally live and have always lived across the nation from each other, and yet managed to spar once every two months for a great portion of their lives.

(She wonders how they must feel now, the same distance, and yet pushed immeasurably further apart by mere duty, and then considers that at the end of the day, it’s not too different from her and Sacae—not even that far, but somehow separated by a gap that can never again truly be bridged.)

 

She’s snapped out of her thoughts by a gentle nudge from Hector, gazing down at her with eyes tired but fond as ever.

“Thinking about something? You looked pensive.”

“You and Eliwood,” Lyn says, working her hand into his. “And Sacae.”

“I promise we’ll go,” he says, squeezing her hand, and she nods.

“I believe you,” she says with a nod. “Eliwood comes first, though.”

“He does.”

They fall back into a tense silence, and she’s not really sure why—clearly something’s upset Hector—and she suspects she knows what it is—but there’s also the lingering question of whether or not Eliwood is truly okay, how he’s doing, standing at the forefront of both of their minds. It could be either one, or even something else.

Hector is a mystery to her sometimes. Every time she thinks she’s broken a wall down, another one comes right back up in its place.

(That’s okay, she thinks. She has time. They’ll always have time. There will always _be_ time. They have the rest of their lives together to work things out, after all.

And yet somehow, a part of her is convinced that time is of the essence, because she’ll never really know how much time with him she has left.)

 

“I’m worried about you, Hector.”

The words come out without her ever intending to say them, but she doesn’t take them back, holds steadfastly to their meaning; it would be a lie to say that that’s untrue, because she _is_ concerned for him. She loves him, after all.

It pains her to see him so obviously hurting and yet so terrified of saying it.

“I’m fine,” he says, and in every syllable that comes out of his mouth she can hear the tiredness, the desperation, the complete and utter exhaustion that’s been weighing on him for so long, and she sighs.

“Hector, I love you, but you’re clearly not. I don’t know what happened last night—and I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there for you then—but I’m here for you now, and we have however many hours left before we get to Castle Pherae, and I’m not about to let you try to put Eliwood back together when you’re falling apart yourself. I can’t make you tell me everything, but I know you’re not fine, and if you need me, I’m always here, and you should know that, too,” she says, eyes downcast. She feels Hector exhale against her.

“I’m worried about him,” he says quietly. “I’m worried about Eliwood, and losing Ninian is horrible, and I’m worried about Eliwood’s son, because he’s probably hurting, too, and I wish I could make this situation better, but I can’t. We all loved Ninian, and she’s gone, and we’re all hurting, Eliwood most of all, and I...I don’t know how to handle it.” He tightens his grip on Lyn’s hand, head tilted upwards. “I can’t imagine how Eliwood’s feeling right now, and I don’t know how to help him.”

“Just be there for him,” Lyn responds. “He doesn’t need the fearless leader of the Lycian League right now, or the always composed Marquess of Ostia. He just needs a friend. He needs Hector.” She pauses. “You don’t always need to be all of those things either, you know. Sometimes, it’s okay to just be Hector, too. Others might depend on you, but at the end of the day—just like you told me—you’re still human, and that’s what makes people love you. Your vulnerabilities are what make you strong.”

“I know,” he says. He shifts to give her a quick kiss on the top of the head, chaste but still tender, and squeezes her hand. “Thank you, Lyn.”

“Of course.”

 

And just like that, the tensions melt away, and the air goes from heavy and stagnant to the gentle, mellow breeze that it always is while crossing Lycia; just like that, the fortress around Hector falls away, one wall at a time, one by one.

 

They arrive at Castle Pherae earlier than they expected to (or perhaps it was just the relief that made the time seem to pass by faster), and it’s just as lovely as Lyn remembers it being. She can see the long history of Eliwood’s lineage in every gap in between the cobblestones, every shift in color of the walls, even the way the fields surround the castle, and thinks that there are few places that would be so befitting of Eliwood as Castle Pherae itself—and yet at the same time it breaks her heart, because the entire castle is so clearly in mourning. Save for a couple rooms, the blinds are all drawn, and there’s black fabric draped around the columns, and so few servants bustling about that it’s almost alarming.

As Hector comes up behind her, pulling their luggage, she can hear his tentative inhale as he takes in the same sight, lips pressed into a tight line.

(To him, somehow, the castle that had previously felt so full of life has never felt more devoid of it.)

 

Almost as if he’s been expecting them, the door swings open as they approach, and Lyn’s heart drops.

Eliwood looks so destroyed.

She hasn’t seen him in years, admittedly, but Mother Earth and Father Sky, he looks _awful_ —he looks so much thinner than she remembers, to the point where on his already thin frame it’s almost as if she can see his bones beneath his skin, pale and colorless, and the bags under his eyes are a dead giveaway if nothing else. He’s never been that healthy, but this is something else, and her entire soul aches for him.

It’s hard to picture the once lively seventeen year old she knew all those years ago, fearlessly leading an entire army and felling any enemy standing before him, always in the constant pursuit of justice and peace, reduced to the man in front of her, someone so broken and shattered it seems as almost as if he’s more dead than alive. Witnessing him in this state is agonizing, _so_ much more painful than she thought it would be. To think she believed she had prepared herself for the worst.

She can only imagine how badly he’s hurting, and just the thought of the suffering he’s been through makes her throat catch and the edges of her lips tug downwards, eyes already misty—

—except this time, she doesn’t try to will away the tears, and this time, unlike what happened with the Lorca, unlike what she dreads will happen with Hector, she _will_ save him. She rushes up to him and throws her arms around his shoulders, still needing to get onto the tips of her toes to hug him properly, the same way it was back then.

“Oh, Eliwood,” she breathes, “we came as soon as we heard. I’m so sorry.”

“...thank you,” he says, almost a whisper, and even his voice sounds raspier, emptier—a head and a half taller than her, he dips his head until his forehead rests against her shoulder, and he feels so light that she wouldn’t be surprised if the wind were able to pick him up and sweep him away. “Castle Pherae is greater for you presence.”

“There’s no need to be so formal,” Hector says, setting down the last of their things, and as soon as Eliwood is out of Lyn’s arms, he’s in Hector’s; the Ostian Marquess gives him a hug much softer than the others he’s received in the past, conveying something much deeper behind it than just a reunion of friends. Based on the way Eliwood’s eyes—once so bright, now so dull—close and the way he slackens into Hector’s touch—just for a second—before straightening up, Lyn can tell he appreciates it.

 

As Eliwood leads them in, Lyn slips her hand into Hector’s, and prays that a fate like this will never befall him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyn centric chapter !! in this house of god we love and support lyn  
> ft. eliwood suffering
> 
> the end of this chapter and basically next chapter heavily overlap with chapter 9 of to raise a son and i'm really excited to be able to rewrite that chapter and the other chapters like that in tras from another character's point of view !!! so hopefully you all get as much of a kick of out reading them as i do out of writing them haha
> 
> as always i hope you liked this chapter and thank you so much for the continued support !!!! ;;v;;


	9. Chapter 9

“How’ve you been?” Hector says, finally having a moment to breathe after putting all of their things away. They’re staying in one of the vacant guest rooms, of which there is no shortage of in the empty castle; the room isn’t uncomfy, by any means, but doesn’t feel like a room in a _home_.

Eliwood exhales, wheezing slightly, and Hector feels Lyn tense from beside him. They both know the answer to this question already, and if they didn’t, it’s been answered by what they’ve seen, the disrepaired state that Eliwood stands in in front of them, and they’re certain Eliwood knows, too. It’s a question of courtesy, no more and no less, and yet they still dread the answer.

They’ve known him too long not to be worried, seeing him like this.

“I want to say I’ve been doing okay, but in truth, it’s been hell,” he says softly. Hector watches as he sinks further back into the couch, almost surprised that he’s able to make a dent in the leather at all. Between the two marquesses, Lyn reaches out to place her hand on his shoulder, caringly rubbing it for a brief second before he continues. “I— _we_ , I suppose—we always knew she didn’t have that much time, but...it came...it felt like it came so suddenly. One moment, we were happy, the next moment, she couldn’t get up from bed, and the moment after that, she was gone.”

“Eliwood...”

There aren’t any other things Hector can think to say, because on the one hand, can such pain even hope to be tempered by mere words of comfort? But on the other, he understands. Maybe not the exact same situation, but he’s been through it before; Uther, his parents...

Just like Eliwood said: one moment, happy, the next, unable to get out of bed, and the moment after, gone.

A description all too familiar to him.

And then Eliwood’s voice catches again, and he scrunches his eyes shut as he keeps talking, looking more and more worn with every word.

“And Roy hasn’t been taking it too well, either, obviously. He’s...he’s four. He shouldn’t have to deal with something like this, and yet...” He pauses for a moment, sighing, bearing the sorrow typical of someone far beyond his age, and Hector’s heart aches for him as he continues talking. “I’m trying to be both father and mother here, because that’s what he needs, but I can’t be.” Eliwood looks up, then, his expression portraying something between misery and numbness. “I feel like such a failure.”

“You’re not a failure,” Hector says, and he’s firm in that, wants to drill it into Eliwood’s head so that if nothing else, he can find solace in that; he refuses to let his friend beat himself up like this, not after all he’s gone through. “You’re trying your best. It’s not easy.”

It’s never easy.

“It’s not, but my best isn’t good enough. Roy is...sometimes, I feel like Marcus is more of a father to him than I am.”

“It’s okay if you need someone else to step in,” Hector says, and all he can think of is Uther, so young and yet trying to do exactly what Eliwood tries to do now, be both father and mother and older brother to a child so young he couldn’t even understand what had happened to his parents, can barely remember their faces now. “After our parents died, Uther didn’t raise me alone—‘it takes a village’, or whatever they say. I think every retainer we had stepped in, even Matthew.”

That gets a smile out of Eliwood, at least. Beside him, he can feel Lyn tentatively relax as Eliwood pauses, and then that pause shifts into legitimate relaxing, and although the air is still tense, it finally feels like all of them can take a breath.

“...are you staying for the funeral?” he asks, and Lyn squeezes Hector’s hand.

“Of course,” they respond.

Eliwood doesn’t smile, but it’s getting there.

 

And suddenly, things are almost back to normal between the three of them; Hector and Lyn bicker (lovingly, of course), and Eliwood finally _actually_ smiles—more than once, even—and Castle Pherae begins to feel less like a castle and more like the place Hector remembers Eliwood growing up in.

The conversation shifts to Roy, how he’s been, and Hector quirks an eyebrow.

“Speaking of Roy, where is he?”

“Ah, hm...probably with Lowen and Rebecca,” Eliwood responds. Hector watches as he makes a gesture at one of the retainers, who nods and heads off to go find the Pheraen heir. “He’ll be here in a bit. He’s a very kind boy. You’ll like him.”

“As long as he doesn’t steal Lilina away,” Hector jokes with a laugh—and it seems that a laugh is all that was needed to _really_ break the tension, make things the same way they were nine years ago, and at least for now it feels like things are getting better.

“I doubt that’ll happen until you grow in your great beard,” Eliwood quips back, and then Lyn jumps in, and the stress finally rolls off.

(And Eliwood smiles, and life continues, just as the three of them wish.

At the end of the day, that’s been all they’ve ever wanted, hasn’t it?)

And then, Lowen and Rebecca arrive with Roy in tow, and Hector and Lyn are stunned by how _alike_ Eliwood and Roy look. Father and son is one thing, but aside from his eyes—round, like Ninian’s—Roy could practically be a carbon copy of Eliwood. Hector turns to point that out to Lyn, but she’s already enamored, a wide smile spread across her face and one hand unknowingly, almost longingly draped across her stomach.

“Ah, Roy!” Eliwood is the one to call him over, and Hector notices how much more alive Eliwood seems than just a couple of short hours ago, and he breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Yes, Father?”

And just as quickly, the relief goes away.

A four year old, calling his father... _father_? As opposed to “dad” or “papa” or something?

Unbeknownst to Eliwood, Hector and Lyn exchange a glance, but neither one of them chooses to say anything.

“Come meet your father’s friends,” he says, leaning down towards Roy. “This is Uncle Hector and Aunt Lyndis. We all traveled together back then, alongside your mother.”

Roy is somewhat shy, a little hesitant to greet them, but Hector can tell Lyn is absolutely in love with the boy; his mind jumps back to their discussions of a second child, and he smiles to himself, watching her immediately fawn over him as if she were his own mother.

“Hey there, Roy!” Lyn says, and in response, Roy steps out a little further and waves at her, and she immediately looks up at Eliwood, beaming. “Eliwood, he’s _so cute._ He looks just like you!”

“You think so?” he responds, watching his son. Roy stumbles over to Lyn and then looks up at Hector, who begrudgingly finds himself falling under the same spell as Lyn; with a smile, he waves back and ruffles Roy’s hair, who scrunches his face but grins despite that.

“C’mon, that red hair? You can’t miss it,” Lyn says. “He has—”

And then her breath catches, and so does Hector’s, and she glances up at Eliwood with a look of sheer terror before immediately staring at the ground and mumbling a quick apology under her breath, horrified.

“Lyndis?” Eliwood tilts his head at her, one eyebrow raised.

Damn him and his concern, Hector thinks. Damn him for always being there for his friends.

Sometimes, Hector thinks, it’s better to not know better. Sometimes it’s better to not know at all.

“He has...he has Ninian’s eyes.”

“Ah, that,” the Pheraen marquess says with a small exhale. Hector can see the pain coming back again, but Eliwood tries to push it off, in the same way he always has. “He does. It...it hurts, but it’s a reminder that she was here.”

“That it is,” she says, and the home becomes a castle again, and Hector is once again reminded of exactly how empty Castle Pherae is.

Hector exhales. If they’re back to square one, there’s no point in not bringing it up.

“Eliwood,” he says, and he’s careful in picking his words—he’s rash more often than not, but now is not a good time to be, and he can tell Eliwood picks up on it. “...Roy called you ‘father’ earlier?”

Eliwood hums in agreement, and Hector and Lyn exchange another look.

Too casual of an agreement, Hector thinks, and he raises an eyebrow at his old friend. Too formal for a toddler.

“Isn’t that, I dunno, a little—a little formal, for a four year old? Shouldn’t he be calling you...‘papa’, or ‘dad’, or something like that? Something less...estranged?”

He’s hesitant to use that word, but it’s the truth. He’s honest, if nothing else, and he knows that Eliwood knows that.

“He used to,” Eliwood responds quietly. “...it’s only been ‘father’ since Ninian passed.”

Hector closes his mouth and looks down, and he doesn’t say another word.

(A part of him thinks he should have expected an answer like that.)

 

They spend the rest of the evening playing with Roy, talking about Lilina, and the next few days pass quickly; Hector enjoys it. It reminds him of when they were children, when life was simpler and war was the furthest thing on their minds, and the most real combat got was sparring with wooden swords.

A time when things were at peace.

And, like peace does, it falls apart.

 

The funeral is done the Pheraen way, quietly, without speeches; merely an open casket and an empty husk, with another watching over it.

Hector can’t bring himself to look at her. This isn’t the way she would have wanted to be remembered, colorless and still, when she had once been so full of life.

The sky cries for her the same way that Lyn does, and Hector exhales.

 

Eliwood is like he was when his father died; stiff shoulders, straight-backed, and shattered on the inside, and Hector knows it. He’s seen him like this in the past, and it never gets any easier, he thinks.

He and Lyn walk next to him, with Roy in front, more of an embodiment of sorrow than any child that young should ever be, and Hector reaches up to place a hand on Eliwood’s shoulder—he needs it more now than ever—and that’s when Eliwood sniffles and tenses, and that’s when they know.

Hector and Lyn make quick eye contact, and Lyn immediately rushes ahead to usher Roy someplace else—he doesn’t need to see this, they both know. He places his hands on Eliwood’s shoulders and guides him closer to the castle, where he crumples against the wall and then leans forward, shutting his eyes as if closing them will prevent the tears from falling. Hector’s lips tighten into a line as he places a hand on Eliwood’s back, rubbing circles into it the same way Uther once did for him, the same way he does for Lilina—

—the way people do when something unimaginably fragile is at its breaking point, as if touch alone could ever hope to repair the cracks.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” Eliwood breathes, breath hitching on itself. “I knew she would be gone—we both did, b-but—doing this without her, I just...I never thought it would be like this. I’m not strong enough. I can’t,” he whispers. Lyn returns to his side, having ushered Roy off with Rebecca, and Hector can feel her stiffen, beside herself with concern. “Hector, I loved her so much, a-and—and she’s gone. I’m such a mess without her. I can’t raise a son like this, much less lead Pherae. What do the people think, watching their reigning lord bawling like—like a _child_?”

“You’re allowed to mourn,” Hector says quietly, and he wishes he could say more, be there for Eliwood in the way that Eliwood had been so often for him over so many years, but he doesn’t know how—and he hates to see him like this, poisoning himself with his own words, and Eliwood’s anguish only grows as he leans forward, choking back another sob as he places his head in his hands.

“I have a state to lead, and here I am, struggling with a loss that I saw coming from the start. My father, N-Ninian—they would be so disappointed in me.”

And that’s how it begins, how the cracks grow and how the shatter starts, one piece at a time, and Eliwood starts to fall apart, thoughts and words racing, growing more extreme and more panicked by the second. He inhales sharply before speaking, scrunching his eyes shut as if to block out what’s done.

“I couldn’t avoid it. I couldn’t save my father, and I couldn’t save Ninian, and gods forbid if something happens to Roy, I won’t be able to save him, either—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to Roy, Eliwood—”

—and his words are futile, because nothing could be enough for this, because strength isn’t what’s needed right now—

“—and I was the one who stole her life away! I killed her, because I was so selfish that I wanted her here, instead of choosing to let her go—”

—because battles aren’t won with strength alone, Eliwood once said, and now Hector fully understands what he was saying—

—and that’s when Eliwood pauses, eyes wild and wide with fear, horror and revulsion at himself pooling up just behind the blues of his eyes, once so clear and straightforward and now muddied with the pain of immeasurable loss.

“...what if Roy can’t handle being in this world, either?”

Hector and Lyn immediately suck in a breath. “...what?”

“He’s her son,” the Pheraen lord says, tears streaming down his face as he knots his hands in his hair. Hector knows how this goes—never one to be healthy, Eliwood will stress himself out until he makes himself sick, and he wants to scream, watching all of this unfold in front of him and knowing exactly how it’s going to end without being able to change the ending.

That’s not the only thing that he knows the ending to, he thinks, but he pushes that thought aside. His own fate can wait. Eliwood cannot.

Eliwood hunches over, curling in on himself as he continues. “If her body can’t handle this, can his? Is he going to die, too?” He looks up at them with a pained exhale, eyes glazed over in terror. “I love him more than anything in the world. I—I can’t lose him too!”

And that’s how it _happens_ . The stress finally becomes too much, piles on top of the anxiety and the sickness and _everything_ , and Eliwood leans forward and dry-heaves, already woozy, on the brink of passing out. Hector immediately runs over and scoops him into his arms—he knows how prone to illness Eliwood is, but even so, he’s so light, and he’s lost so much weight—and he rushes upstairs with Lyn at his side, placing Eliwood on his bed with a concerned grimace. He’s stopped talking, but his eyes are still glazed over, and either sweat or rain, or some combination of the two, dapples his forehead, more a symbol of sorrow now than ever before.

Lyn rests a hand on Eliwood’s forehead and then Hector’s, and immediately frowns.

“He’s feverish. I knew it wasn’t just stress. I doubt he’s been taking care of himself at all.”

Hector’s lips press into a thin line. “Knowing Eliwood, it wouldn’t surprise me. I brought some vulneraries along, thankfully, so we can switch watch overnight, and we can probably stay until he recovers. I think Oswin has everything covered at the castle.”

“I believe so,” Lyn murmurs. “I’ll take first watch. Maybe we can have Priscilla come in later, too, if he doesn’t get any better.”

Hector sighs with concern, anxiety building in his gut. “I’m worried for him. All these years, and he’s still not that hardy,” he says softly. “He’ll work himself to death. I don’t think he’s truly sick, more like just spent all of his energy, but...poor Eliwood, eh? I can’t imagine having to be a father through this, especially when Roy is so young.”

“Mm. Neither can I.”

Hector doesn’t bring it up. He doesn’t want to tell her that she might have to, that someone will, that he doesn’t know how much time he has left, that Armads sealed his fate long ago, that he chose the will over the world over his own—but now isn’t the time for that, he thinks. Right now, there’s no war, merely Eliwood and a wife and a child, and that’s enough. He pulls her into a soft embrace, resting his chin on the top of of her head and closing his eyes for a brief moment before they pull apart and place themselves on the floor, sorting every healing item they’ve brought with them.

 

Neither of them sleep. How could they, on a night like this?

 

Hector doesn’t know how much time passes, but he’s certain it’s at least a few hours; he doesn’t bother to check, only marks the time with Eliwood’s breathing, growing softer and more stable as time goes on.

And then breathing is replaced by an exhausted groan, and they turn around to see Eliwood finally coming to, face scrunched with tiredness.

“Eliwood!” Lyn is up immediately, hand back on his forehead, and she exhales, turning to Hector with an expression only described as relief. “He’s doing better.”

Eliwood blinks, still adjusting to his surroundings. “...Lyn? Hector?”

“We’re here,” Hector says, heading to Eliwood’s side. The redhead smiles and then grimaces, clearly unhappy with himself.

“...I’m sorry. I panicked irrationally earlier.” He pauses. “...I must have worried you. I don’t intend to impose, especially when you’ve come all this way.”

“We know how you are, Eliwood,” Hector says. Eliwood shoots him a look both questioning and suspicious—Hector’s seen it many times over the course of their friendship, always the same, and he stifles a laugh. “You’ve always been like this. ‘Don’t want to impose’ this, ‘don’t want to be a burden’ that. We’re your friends. We’re here for you, because that’s what friends do. We’ll take care of you.”

Eliwood lets out a sigh as his gaze returns to the ceiling. “...thank you. You know me...so well,” he says, voice brighter, colored by just a hint of bemusement. “I appreciate you staying with me.”

“That’s what friends do,” Hector repeats. “We’ll watch over you for a bit, and maybe return to our quarters later. Get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” Eliwood says, closing his eyes.

They don’t leave, not yet; they don’t even begin packing up again until they’re sure he’s asleep, breathing even and all, and then they stop when they hear a small voice at the door.

“...Father?”

 _Roy_ , Hector mouths to Lyn. She nods. He sounds exactly like Eliwood did when he was little; a carbon copy, even down to the vocal cords, Hector thinks. Not a shock that such a charming child would come from a father like Eliwood. Lyn glances at Eliwood, and then back to Hector, and then goes to get the door.

“Your father’s asleep, but come in,” she says, and Roy enters somewhat sheepishly, a stuffed bunny in one hand and a blanket in the other. “Why’re you up, little one?”

“I had a bad dream,” Roy says quietly. “I...Father usually lets me sleep in his bed.” He swallows. “...he’s warm.”

Lyn opens her mouth, about to speak, but cuts herself off when she hears Eliwood stir and mumble something from behind them, woken by the commotion.

“...Roy?”

“...hello...”

Hector watches as he pushes himself up, posture relaxed, but face tinged with concern. “You shouldn’t be up,” he says, and Hector and Lyn grin. His voice is so...fatherly; not the same tone he would use for Ninian, not even for other children he’s been around, but something completely separate, gentle and protective and entirely its own. “...did you have a bad dream?”

Roy acquiesces with a mumble, and Eliwood scoots over, the bed shifting slightly beneath his weight.

“Come here. You can sleep here tonight. I won’t let anything hurt you,” he says, keeping an eye on Roy as he scrambles onto the bed, just short enough that it’s a challenge. “Papa’s here,” he says with a yawn, helping Roy get adjusted under the blankets beside him, stuffed rabbit still in his arms. Then, he blinks and gives a soft nod to Hector and Lyn. “Thank you, my friends.”

Lyn takes Hector’s hand and squeezes it, gaze soft and longing.

He knows what she’s thinking; Eliwood’s family might be complete, but they both still desperately want a second child, and her heart has melted, seeing their friend with his own son like this.  
Hector would be lying if he said his own hadn’t, too.

“Eliwood,” he says softly, “you’re a great father.”

“...you think so?”

“After watching that, I know so.”

“...thanks,” Eliwood says, and Hector can hear the sleep edging at his voice, and he exchanges a glance with Lyn.

“Get some rest, Eliwood,” she says. “We’ve left some vulneraries on the table if you need it, but you should be fine with a little rest. Just don’t put so much on your shoulders, okay? You’re doing fine.”

Eliwood murmurs another quick thanks, and Hector and Lyn quietly exit, briefly stopping by Marcus’ post to let him know to keep watch. Their conversation on the way back is still about Eliwood, about how proud they are about him as a father, that he doesn’t give himself enough credit, that he’s done so much for Roy and that he could spare to give himself a break every once in a while—but then, he’s always been like that, hasn’t he?

Some things never change, Hector muses.

In a way, he’s glad Eliwood hasn’t. The world still needs him to be who he is.

 

Lyn slips under the covers beside him and exhales, hair sprawled out on the pillow beside her, staring at the ceiling. She slides her hand into Hector’s, and he takes it and gently kisses it before resting it back on the mattress, his hand still weighing over hers.

“Hector,” she murmurs quietly, “did you see Eliwood and Roy like that?”

“I did,” he murmurs. “It was cute.”

“It was,” she confirms, and then she pauses, shifting her free hand so that it rests over her stomach, fingers tense and slightly curled. “Hector, I...I still want another.”

“I know,” he says. He squeezes her hand again, staring at the ceiling. “I do too.”

She smiles, letting go of his hand so that she can tuck herself against him, resting her head on his chest, and he tilts his head down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head before letting sleep finally come for him, a welcomed relief at a long day’s end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD LORD this chapter took a while to write but also it's almost 4000 words long so hopefully that justifies it lol ,,
> 
> both this fic and to raise a son have suddenly experienced a boom in popularity since the last time i uploaded, so i just want to say thank you to all of my new readers (and also to everyone still coming back, haha) !! i really hope you all have enjoyed this fic so far and will continue to enjoy it as chapters continue to be rolled out !! this particular period of overlapping chapters has been very fun for me to write, so i really hope that the overlapping effect is as cool as i want it to be, and has also been a nice throwback for those who have also read to raise a son or read tras beforehand !!
> 
> this week is finals week, so after this week i FINALLY will be able to upload more frequently and consistently. thank you all for being patient with me, and as always thank you so much for the continued support !!


	10. Chapter 10

“Are you sure we should let him do this?” Lyn asks, and Hector’s mouth sets in a grim line.

 

He wants to say no. He wants, desperately, to say that this is a bad idea, that Eliwood will strain himself, that it’s not a burden he should have to carry on his own; he wants to say that their lives have culminated to this, that it’s a task they should all handle together, that Eliwood would not insist otherwise if they insisted upon helping him.

Hector says, “Yes, I’m sure,” and then, “we’ll just help him move the casket.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lyn’s mouth twitch, but she says nothing, just nods and lowers her eyes.

 

They follow him into a field of forget-me-nots, pushing through the rain and the muddy ground—it’s not like they’re unfamiliar with terrain like that, after all they’ve gone through—and take turns carrying Roy, who cries softly into the shirt of whoever’s holding him. Everything is gray—the sky, the mud, their faces—and it certainly doesn’t help that Eliwood is in no condition to be doing anything strenuous, much less dig a grave.

Hector watches him carefully, and can’t help but take a sharp inhale when he sees Eliwood pause as a shiver wracks his body; he’s never had a large frame, always been a scrawny thing, but his entire body shakes as he merely pauses to take a breath, and every nerve in Hector’s body wants him to reach out to Eliwood and tell him to stop, but before he can even open his mouth, Eliwood is back at it, ruthlessly determined; it reminds Hector of how Eliwood was when he was seventeen, but that was many long years ago, and the circumstances were so,  _ so _ much different.

Beside him, Lyn pulls Roy into another hug as he starts to cry again, and he closes his eyes, unable to watch.

He almost wishes everything could be like it was back then, death in a way so much more detached than watching your wife die in front of you, in a way that didn’t promise happy endings that wouldn’t last forever or destroy the children that came after them.

 

Eliwood pauses, seemingly done, and Hector helps him back up to more stable ground, letting him rest for a moment before actually dropping the casket in. Roy immediately makes his way to his father’s side, hugging him tightly and burying his face in his father’s side as Eliwood rustles his hair and wraps his arms around his son in return.

Roy sniffles. “F-Father, I don’t want Mama to go—”

(Hector catches it again: that slight wince from Eliwood when Roy says “father” instead of “papa”, but keeps his mouth shut—it’s not the time, and it’s not his business, that’s for sure.)

“It’s okay—it’s okay, Roy. Mama loves you very much.”

“Are you...” Roy pauses. “...Father, will you leave too?”

Beside him, Lyn stiffens and closes her eyes, as if just listening to them is agony.

In a way, it is. Hector can’t deny that.

“Oh, Roy...” Eliwood scoops Roy up in his arms as Roy breaks into another sob, ever patient and loving, even in the face of despair. “I’ll never leave you. I’ll be here for as long as you need me, and even longer than that. I won’t leave.”

“P-Papa...”

Eliwood holds him for another moment as Roy composes himself—

—he’s too young to need to do that, Hector thinks, and both of them shouldn’t have had to go through this, not now or not ever, because it’s just not  _ fair _ , but then, it’s never been fair for any of them, caught up in a war that should never have happened as nothing more than teenagers, not even adults in their own right—

—and then Roy lets go of his father and returns to Lyn’s side, where she immediately drops down and hugs him, and Hector follows.

He needs it, Hector thinks as Roy’s sobs quiet.

They all do.

 

Eliwood exhales and then looks at Hector, and they nod; they’re done pushing it off. It has to be done eventually.

Hector takes one side of the casket while Eliwood takes the other, and step by step, they gently lower it into the ditch, dropping it the last couple of inches when they can go no further without soaking their boots in muddy rainwater. Hector pulls himself out first and then helps Eliwood up, and turns to Lyn with a knowing nod and a gesture at the casket as Eliwood takes a shaky inhale and lets himself slowly fall apart.

Some things, Hector knows, Eliwood has to process on his own.

He and Lyn get to work at filling in what’s left of the ditch as Roy and Eliwood have their own conversation behind them, and by the time they’re done, the rain has quieted somewhat, although it doesn’t make their surroundings look any brighter.

“Eliwood, we should go,” Lyn says after catching her breath. Her eyes flick worriedly over Eliwood before she glances back at Hector, uncertainty filling her gaze. “You’ll get sick.”

Eliwood coughs. “One more thing.” He grabs a bag of seeds from his pocket, pours them onto his palm, scores the ground with his foot and then spreads them before kicking the dirt back over them, closing his eyes as if to pray. “Godspeed, Ninian,” he says quietly. “I love you.”

Hector and Lyn say nothing, merely stare at the ground in their silence. After a moment, Eliwood picks up a still-weepy Roy and softly kisses his forehead as he returns to his friends.

“Ready to go?” Lyn asks. Eliwood nods.

“Thank you for coming with me, my friends,” he says, and they nod.

They support him, of course. It’s what friends do.

 

When they return, Eliwood goes to tuck in Roy as Hector and Lyn let themselves dry off in the living room, still half-damp from the rain. Hector’s exhausted; the digging was tiring, and the rain certainly didn’t help, nor did the somber mood. Still, as much as he would like to stay another couple of days and rest, they can’t—they both they have duties to return to at home, although neither of them really want to say it.

Lyn takes it upon herself as soon as Eliwood is back in the room.

“Um, Eliwood,” she murmurs, “we have to be getting back to Ostia soon. We’ll...we’ll leave tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

Eliwood pauses for such a brief moment that Hector’s not even sure he realizes he did so before smiling at them in a way that looks just a little too forced as he responds. “Of course. Thank you so much for staying. I really appreciate it. Castle Pherae was greater for your presence.”

“Please don’t be so formal about it. We’ll stay longer if you need us to.” Hector says, voice affectionately grouchy, before splitting into a grin. “The Marquess is a well-known lout, and the people of Lycia love you. They’ll understand if you need more time to mourn.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Eliwood says, putting up his hands. “Ostia is the ruling territory of Lycia, and you need to get back to it. I understand.”

“We’ll stay if you need us to,” Hector says, exhaling slightly.

There are some things Eliwood needs to handle on his own, but that was the burial. What comes after doesn’t need to be.

“Hector, I promise it’s fine.”

Hector gazes at him for a moment, and it’s like being thrown back twenty years—he remembers one of the particularly bad sick spells Eliwood had had as a child, and how the nurses had practically had to shove him out of the room so Eliwood could get some rest. He hadn’t wanted to leave, only wanted to make sure his friend was okay—the feeling is the same, even now, and he’s sure Eliwood understands that.

“Are you sure?” Hector asks.

Eliwood nods. “I’m sure.”

“Eliwood, if you’re just trying not to ‘impose’ or whatever—”

“I’m  _ sure _ , Hector,” Eliwood says. His voice is tired, maybe slightly irritated, but behind all that, Hector can hear the fondness that comes with so many years of friendship; it makes Hector relax, if only a little bit. He cares about Eliwood, and Eliwood cares about him. It’s always been that way—he doesn’t just want to abandon Eliwood if things could just go wrong again. Eliwood must see it in his eyes, because he smiles—just a little bit, but a  _ real _ smile—before he responds. “I promise I’ll be okay. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll recover.”

Hector’s still not entirely sure, but he nods anyway. He trusts Eliwood.

“If you need us, please don’t be afraid to send a messenger after us,” he says. Eliwood’s expression softens just a little bit as he meets Hector’s eyes. “We’ll return right away.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

Hector coughs and looks away while Lyn readjusts herself. Damn him for not paying more attention in etiquette classes. It would make awkward transitions like these so much easier.

“I guess we’ll head to bed, then,” he says.

Eliwood smiles. “Sounds like a plan. You need rest, after all that digging and lifting I made you do today. Thank you for that.”

“No problem.”

“Goodnight, then,” Eliwood says with a yawn.

“Goodnight.” Hector claps a hand to Eliwood’s shoulder before turning to go to the guest chambers, Lyn at his side, and he feels the tiredness finally weighing down on his shoulders, the product of a long day.

“Goodnight, Eliwood,” Lyn calls.

“Goodnight, Lyndis.”

 

After washing up, they collapse into bed, sore and tired, and Hector exhales as Lyn shifts against his side, getting comfortable before eventually resting her head on the cushion of his bicep.

“...you did the right thing,” she says with a yawn. “He did need to do that, I think. To...come to terms with things.”

“I wasn’t so sure, but hopefully that’s given him a little kick for confidence or something,” Hector says, and Lyn half-smiles, closing her eyes.

“All these years, and you still talk like a commoner,” she says, and Hector snorts.

“You’re one to talk,” he retorts, but then smiles as he presses a soft kiss to her forehead, watching her doze off. “Goodnight, Lyn.”

“Goodnight, Hector.”

 

Eliwood sees them off with a fond farewell the next morning, and as they collapse back into the carriage, Lyn’s head on his shoulder as always, Hector stares out of the window towards the mountains on the horizon and exhales, tension he didn’t realize he’d been carrying seeping off of him like last night’s rain off of the flowers in the field.

Finally, they’re going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF sorry it's been so long since i've updated once again !! i was on vacation with my family without access to my laptop for a good two weeks (and before that recovering from finals lmao), but now that i'm back i'm fully intending to finish this fic by the end of august !!
> 
> this is the last chapter for a Hot Second that coincides with to raise a son, but i hope the whole chapters overlapping effect came off as cool as i wanted it to !! there are a couple moments in this chapter specifically that i hope line up nicely with ch 10 of tras, as they're the same/similar notes on a conversation from the other character's pov--i really wanted to illustrate how well eliwood and hector know each other, so hopefully for people who are reading this after having read tras, it comes off that way !!
> 
> as always, i hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you so much for the continued support !! ;;v;;


	11. Chapter 11

Home is brief; having seen Eliwood, Hector finally fulfills on his promise to take Lyn to Sacae. Life is too short to continue always pushing something off to tomorrow and never for today, he decides; Eliwood, in some ways, has shown him that, stuck in the past and mourning his wife, yet still having to move forward for the sake of his son.

He would never wish that on anyone, but it certainly is something to learn from.

 

They take Lilina with them, and he can see Lyn grow more excited with every minute as the forested surroundings of Ostia grow more like the plains of her childhood; she hadn’t even bothered to wear her Ostian gear out of the castle, had merely slipped into her old Sacaen garb and dashed into the carriage, practically bouncing with excitement. Hector had followed after her, gently guiding Lilina along behind him, much slower in the heavy Ostian dress, adorned with things that Hector knew could never truly make Lyn feel at home.

It’s fun to watch Lyn’s excitement grow on the way to Sacae, anyway; he doesn’t catch the way her hand rests over her stomach, the nostalgic smile she gets when she passes by an old hunting ground that her mother would bring her to.

He does notice when she shifts and then leans forward, looking more than a little nauseous, but before he can question it, she leans back up with her lips tightened into a firm line, steadfast despite whatever’s ailing her.

“...are you alright?” he asks, voice soft, and Lyn nods.

“I’m fine,” she says, flashing him a quick smile, before she resumes watching the outside world pass by, Lilina falling asleep against her shoulder.

 

-

 

Sacae is as warm as he remembers it being, all those times he had passed through on the way to a spar; the sunlight, unrestricted by trees, hits the fields in a mesmerizing fashion, reflecting off of every individual blade of grass until the plains themselves glitter like the sea on a summer’s day. As soon as they’re back in what was once Lorca territory, Lyn practically throws herself out of the carriage, running about the fields as if she were eighteen again, unburdened by thoughts of war or nobility or a presence to uphold, simply able to be herself. It makes Hector happy to see it, happy to see her finally free of the constraints that Ostia has placed on her, but also makes his gut twinge with sadness, a reminder of everything he has taken from her.

And yet, as if she can read his thoughts, she turns around and extends a hand to him, head tilted slightly to the side and laughing, and he’s reminded of the day he met her, the day he fell in love with her, the day he married her and everything afterwards and in between—he’s reminded that there isn’t a thing either one of them would have traded for this future, isn’t a thing either one of them would have traded for each other. They fought for this, and they deserve it; _she_ deserves this, Hector thinks, sweeping Lilina into his arms and then racing to join Lyn, as if neither of them have a care in the world.

 

At some point, they find themselves on the grass, simply laying there and staring up at the sky; it’s the kind of leisure they didn’t have when they first met each other, uninhibited by fear or nobles or responsibilities or _war_ —just them, their daughter, and all the time in the world. She sits up to press a kiss to his cheek, laughing when he wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her cheek in return and then does the same for Lilina, who squeaks at the scratch of his stubble against her face. When he turns to look at Lyn again, he’s reminded of just how _alive_ she is; he loves the way she smiles when Lilina bounces back to her side, loves the way the wind blows through her hair, loves how the sunlight illuminates her face, loves the way she laughs, loves everything about her.

He’s eternally lucky to have her by his side, he realizes, as he does every moment of every day; he smiles at her, tenderness he once never thought he’d find within himself warming every bone in his body, and wonders how whatever gods are out there could ever have seen him fit to be loved by someone like her.

And then she’s up again, cupping one side of his face with her hand and kissing him again, the taste of the wind itself on her lips, and the world itself is brighter for it, glimmering and refreshing and new.

 

-

 

Every day is like that in Sacae; it’s a well-needed break from the restrictions of Ostian high society, and every night, tucked away under a ger and the stars, is just as gentle and just as loving. She’s nauseous, sometimes, but she brushes it off, and so he’s only somewhat concerned about it; he trusts Lyn to know herself, because she does.

So it’s when she pulls him aside on their last night there, after they’ve already tucked Lilina in, that his heart catches in his chest, and that every memory of Eliwood and Ninian comes back up, that his mind immediately jumps to the worst in a kind of anxiety he’s almost never had before, will never be _used_ to having, and—

—and Lyn immediately catches on, takes one of his hands in hers, and smiles at him, eyes twinkling in the teasing sort of way that he’s grown so used to after all these years.

“I’m fine,” she says, stifling a laugh, but Hector’s concern doesn’t subside. He opens his mouth to respond before she frowns at him, nudging him lightly in the ribs. “Hector, I _promise_ I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she says with a huff, rolling her eyes. “I promise I would let you know if I was dying, Hector. We’ve seen enough of that in our lives already. I don’t intend to be the next to go.”

“I know, but still—”

“ _Hector_ ,” she says, and then she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him into an embrace and then a kiss, laughing softly against his lips. “I _promise_ I’m fine.”

She pulls away, but raises an eyebrow when the concern doesn’t subside off of his face, but Hector figures she really can’t blame him—not after everything they’ve seen their closest friend go through over the past several years, and not after everything that had happened with Uther and his parents before that.

“Okay, since you’re clearly not going to let up,” she says, resting a hand over her stomach, “I’m—”

And before she can even finish her sentence, Hector’s mind is racing at a thousand miles a minute, and instead of finishing her statement, she just looks at him expectantly, the corner of her mouth curved up into an amused smirk.

Something goes off in his head, but he can’t quite place it.

“Oh,” he says, still half-frowning. The notion is dancing on the tip of his tongue, but he’s not sure if he can even believe it, the whole notion of it all. Wouldn’t that be too much joy for one man to handle?

“Oh?” Lyn repeats, almost laughing, but behind the amusement there’s something in her gaze—fear, maybe? Joy? Excitement? Hope?—that finally makes everything click together, and he gets it.

With child. That’s what she’s hinting at.

A second child.

_Finally._

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, louder this time, and then she just laughs as he sweeps her up, pressing kisses to her forehead and her cheeks and her jaw and her lips and her neck and everywhere he can reach, almost crying—or maybe he is, he’s not really certain—and then she just rests her hand against his jaw and _looks_ at him, all of the love in the world somehow packed into one green-eyed gaze, and mouths a silent _thank you_ , and then he’s laughing and kissing her again and somehow, everything is finally, _finally_ coming together.

-

 

The ride back to Ostia is perhaps tenser than the one to Sacae, a brief interlude before returning to the everyday happenings of life in court, and yet Hector finds that every worry in his mind fleets whenever he turns to look at her, whenever he thinks of their family, finally completed, the way it once was for him as a child, the way they’ve always pictured it to be—

—and every single time, she catches his gaze, takes his hand in hers and smiles at him, Lilina between them, and every single time, he’s reaffirmed that everything will be alright. He knows it to be so.

 

Lyn shifts Lilina onto her lap so she can rest her head on Hector’s shoulder, and he smiles, exhaling contentedly.

Everything will be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW i am so sorry it's been so long since i've updated !! i spent july studying illustration at a precollege art thing and i had a blast, but i was significantly busier than i thought i would be and as a result didn't really have the time to write, but thank you for your patience !! i hope this extra fluffy chapter makes up for it!!
> 
> my one legitimate side note about this chapter: a ger (also known as a yurt) is a type of portable housing used by nomadic groups in central asia! ger is the mongolian word for it, which i opted to use, as a lot of sacae is based off of mongolia!
> 
> also i've already beaten the blue lions route of 3h and MAN IS IT GOOD,,,, please expect to see some good dimitri/dedue and flayn & seteth content in the upcoming future thank u i. Love them,
> 
> as always, thank you so much for your patience and i really hope you liked this chapter and will continue to enjoy the rest of this story!! thank you so much for the continued support !!
> 
> also to those of you who are keeping track of how this story chronologically lines up with to raise a son and have pieced together what's next: Good Luck :^)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick tw for blood and just general death!! reader discretion is advised if necessary !!

Everything is most certainly not alright.

 

In fact, everything is _wrong._  The child is too early, and the priestesses have kicked Hector out of the room, and Lyn is still in there, and he can hear her moaning, hear her calling his name, hear her _sobbing_ from the sheer pain of it all and he wants nothing more to be in there, to hold her hand and be by her side and promise her that everything will be alright; but if things were truly alright he would actually be allowed in the room—and yet he isn’t, restricted to outside of her birthbed and being entirely reliant on priestesses who he’s barely met to guarantee her health and safety.

He feels helpless, and he hates it.

He is Hector, Marquess of Ostia. Everything he has ever done he has done with his own hands—Elimine, he, Eliwood and Lyn— _Lyn_ —shaped their own future with those same hands, let no one decide the way of the world for them and stopped at nothing until they could guarantee that there truly was a future for their taking, one that they would not let be stopped or stolen away by anyone, Nergal be damned. He had left Ostia on his own accord to go fight for it, never one to take anything sitting down; he has never lied in wait for anything, never met a challenge anything less than head on.

And yet, he sits outside the room where she’s constrained, not even pacing, just _sitting there_ , wallowing in his own helplessness, the only time in his life where there’s nothing he can do. He’s glad that Matthew offered to watch over Lilina for the day, because he would rather not have their daughter have to see this, hear this, experience this. The pain, both from Lyn and from hoping that she’ll be alright and yet not being able to do anything about it—someone as young as her should not have to deal with this.

The worst part is perhaps that they haven’t even told him anything about the condition of the child, either. He can lose everything, in this one moment, this singular point in time that may determine the rest of Hector’s happiness, of his own life, shaped just as much by Lyn’s hands as his.

(He cannot help but be reminded of how Uther had kept him away from their parents as they had laid dying in their deathbeds, and just how much blood there had been—in their lungs, on the doctors’ hands, on everything. He had not understood it at the time, does not want to understand it now, wants it to just be another thing he can hide away under his usual mask of strength and cheer.

He cannot help but be reminded of how Uther had kept him away from himself as he, too, had fallen to that wretched disease, in a last-ditch attempt to protect his younger brother, the only thing he had left, in one last push to get him out of the nest, to follow a destiny that truly matters.

He cannot shake the feeling that perhaps the doctors here are doing the exact same thing.

He does not want to think of a destiny that does not have Lyn in it.)

 

Hector is stuck in his own head, and he hates it. He doesn’t understand how Eliwood has done it for the past years, how anyone could handle something like this, being forced to watch your wife die—

—no, not die, he tells himself; she is Lyn of the Lorca, Lyn, Lady of Ostia, an iron fortress in her own right to match the walls of Castle Ostia themselves, and she is indestructible, untouchable, has always been and will always be—

—and not be able to do anything about it at all.

And his hands itch, and his lungs burn, a phantom of all the things once taken from him before, and the only thing he can think about is how if he loses her, he loses everything. Eliwood is still dear to him, indispensable and loved, but they are no longer the boys they once were—the Marquess of Pherae is no longer within arms’ reach, has not been for a long time now—but since the day they met, Lyn has always been right there beside him, hand in hand, no matter what may come. She has been his rock, the foundation upon which he has built himself, the one constant in a life with a story more convoluted than any story he once read as a child.

Lyn fixed it, fixed it of her own accord, came into his life and saved him from everything he didn’t even know he was hiding from—

—without her, he is deathly afraid that everything will fall apart.

 

He is Hector, Marquess of Ostia, and he cries, because there is nothing he can do, and he knows it.

And the worst part is that if he were given the chance to turn everything back, to be the teenage lout that he once was, free of responsibilities and romance and a march and all that comes with it, he’s not even sure that he would. He loves Lyn too much, and he loves Lilina too much, and he would not trade the world for either of them, and by doing so he condemns himself to a fate worse than death, because he knows he could turn everything back as many times as he wanted to and still lose her, still lose everything, over and over and over again.

Fate has not been nearly as kind to him as Uther once wished it would be.

 

He wants to tell himself that Lyn will pull through, that death will leave them be for now, not pull another loved one out of his reach today, but he would be lying to himself, and he knows so; he can tell in the way that her cries grow weaker, in the way that more and more doctors rush into the room every time one leaves, in the way that their faces grow starker and starker each and every single time.

And he does not hear a baby cry, does not hear Lyn whisper the sweet nothings that she did once to Lilina, all those years ago, does not feel any semblance of that familiar relief in his heart at all.

He is out there for hours, he is certain, perhaps even the better part of a day, and nothing changes—the sun sets without him even noticing, the lanterns are lit, and he is still unmoving, curled in on himself and just wishing it would be over already.

 

And then, it is—but there are no cries, no sudden breaths of life as he remembers there once being, only a priestess somberly beckoning him into the room.

There are still no cries, but Elimine, is there _blood_.

And there is Lyn, deathly pale, holding an unmoving bundle in her arms, sobbing and using whatever last remnants of her strength she can muster to pull it to her chest.

And there is Hector, by her side, taking one of her hands in his, and he can’t even bring himself to ask what’s wrong, can already feel it in the depths of his chest—

—and then she looks at him and silently shakes her head, tears rolling down her cheeks, and Hector can barely bring himself to look at her, can’t even come close to understanding how she could have been so healthy and spritely and _alive_ just a day ago and can be bleeding out now, life already on the edge and slowly falling off, second by second.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and she can’t even bring herself to lean into Hector’s chest like she once would, can barely squeeze his hand, and so he places himself on the side of her bed and holds her to himself, tears he didn’t even know had started flowing dripping from his chin. “I’m so sorry, Hector.”

“No, no, no no no,” he says, just holding her close, as if he can shield her from the world, shield her from death itself. “This isn’t your fault. It was never—it was never your fault.”

“H-he didn’t—he didn’t—”

She can’t even get the sentence out, her arms just tightening around the bundle held to her chest, and then it dawns on Hector that their child didn’t survive, either, and he just pulls her closer, trying for all the world not to break out into sobs himself.

(And then it dawns that Lyn said “he”, and he remembers how they had planned to name their son Uther, and everything hurts twice as much, hurts only like losing a brother a second time and watching your wife’s life fall through your hands can.)

And then her breathing is labored, her eyes become glossy, and he can feel her movement slow in his arms, and then he’s leaning her back, almost shaking her, fingers tightening around her shoulders—

“—Lyn— _Lyn_ — _Lyndis_! Please, _please_ , you can’t go—not yet—”

—and one of the doctors sweeps their child that never was, sweeps _Uther_ , out of her arms and vanishes—  
“—I need you! You can’t—you can’t leave me here alone—”

—and then there’s another, a seemingly faceless priestess who rests a hand, no longer channeling white magic, on Hector’s shoulder, and just shakes her head—

“—please, I still need you—Lilina needs you—”

—and then, he’s given a moment of space, just pulls her body to him and sobs, wishes he could bring her back, still can’t even bring himself to think he would give the world just for a second chance, because he can’t do that, can’t regret her, can’t regret Lilina, can’t regret _everything_ —

—but in the time it would take him to even try to put words to such a thought, she is already gone, vanished from his grasp swifter than the wind that had brought her there in the first place.

(And still, he holds her to his chest and sobs, sobs harder than he ever has in his life, because for once in his life, there was nothing he could have done but wait for the inevitable, and the inevitable was not enough, and now he has lost everything. A wife, a second child, a chance at the life he had once promised Lyn they would have.)

And somehow, he must face Lilina after all of this, break it to her that her mother is no longer around, step up to fill in Lyn’s shoes and become both father and mother, balance mourning and governing with raising a child, see Lyn’s face every time he stares into his daughter’s eyes.

It is a blessing and a curse, and he isn’t quite sure how he’ll handle it, isn’t quite sure how he’ll handle _anything_ now that she’s gone.

 

He must let her go at some point, he knows, but letting go is a goodbye, leaving the room is a goodbye, sleeping in his bed alone tonight is a goodbye that he would prefer never to face. Everything is one step further away from her, one more promise they made each other that will forever be left unfulfilled—

—and then, she must be buried, and life must move on, although Hector’s isn’t sure his can even continue without hers.

 

She was supposed to be by his side.

They were supposed to be together, always.

Her tale had started just a moment earlier than his, and ended far, far too soon, and Hector cannot, _will_ not forgive the world for taking everything from her, for robbing her of the dreams she had still yet to live out.

(And he cannot forgive himself, for only being there in her final moments, for doing nothing except waiting in frozen panic until it had been too late.)

Forgiving, he knows, was never something either of them were good at—not against bandits, not against Nergal, certainly not against themselves. They had always only ever done that for each other, and now that she is gone, Hector is not certain he will ever be able to forgive again.

 

-

 

She does not have an Ostian funeral, nor is she even buried in Ostia, in her formal court gown in all of its horrid regality. Hector buries her himself back in Sacae, where he knew she had always yearned to return to, under the blue sky that had borne her and the Lorcan fields that had raised her.

She is buried in the Lorcan wear that she always wore at home, always boasted about when it was just the two of them, following the last of the Lorcan traditions he could find. He is heartbroken, aching, sobbing the entire time, but it must be done, and Lyn must be returned to the home that she was always held apart from, cradled by the Father Sky and Mother Earth she had always prayed to away from the eyes of the court she had hated so much, life returning to the cycle she had always known it would return to.

She had always been so much more understanding, so much infinitely wiser than he was, and while burying her, Hector can only think of how many more steps ahead she always was—a faster thinker, and even faster on her feet, always right out of his grasp.

He will not ever be able to catch up, and so he returns back to Ostia, the fortified city streets he grew up in and has always known, yet feeling so much less like home without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW there she go...........
> 
> sgjks so clearly this will not be done by the end of august but it most certainly will be done by the end of the year !!!! thank you so much for your patience ;;v;; i really hope this chapter met everyone's expectations !! (sorry lyn,,,) but thank you so much for the continued support !!!!! see you next chapter !!!!


	13. Chapter 13

Hector does not spend the time mourning like he should.

He never has; when his parents fell, when Uther fell, his first instinct had been to throw himself into his work, into the war, do anything to escape that horrible numbness that followed him until it was no longer there when he turned around, and he had. For the most part, it had worked. He has more important things to do with his time than cry, and he’s not even sure if he could bring himself to, anyway.

(Lyn had mentioned that to him, once, when Uther had died. He remembers her words distinctly. She had wrapped her arms around his waist and sobbed into his armor, as if they hadn’t been on a battlefield, fighting for their lives. She had told him not to die.

He only wishes he could have told her the same thing.)

Besides, Ostia does not wait for anyone, nor would he expect it to. There is a marquisate to run, a daughter to raise, rising conflicts with Bern to attend to—there are so many things that will not wait for him to mourn, and so he doesn’t. The years pass by far quicker than he expects them to, and suddenly Lilina is ten, and he’s heard strange things about Bern—whispers of the prince’s assassination, and then word that it was not the prince who had died, but the king, and no word of the little princess. 

Athos’ prediction burns in his throat, and Durban’s curse rises like bile behind it, biting at his insides and demanding to be not only felt but seen.

 

-

 

Eliwood arrives at Castle Ostia for the exact reason Hector expects him to. There is a discussion about Bern, about what has happened with Zephiel and the king, and, as Hector expected, Athos’ warning; neither of them know what to make of it, know what they _can_ make of it, and so they leave it at that.

Hector swears that he will give his life to stop anything that may threaten their children’s futures. Eliwood seems unphased, and Hector knows that Eliwood has only the faintest idea of how seriously he takes this statement.

He swore that promise a long, long time ago, and he has never been allowed to forget it.

 

The two of them watch Roy and Lilina with weary eyes and hearts full of love, and Hector swears he can see a little bit of the old Eliwood peeking out through his friend’s demeanor, the way his eyes soften at Lilina taking Roy’s hand and leading him off, his lips curving upwards into a slight grace of a smile.

“Lilina’s a cute one, isn’t she?” Eliwood says, and Hector smiles too, puffs out his chest that swells with fatherly pride.

“She is. She gets it from me, you know.”

Eliwood snorts. “Oh, definitely.” Hector watches as he takes another long gaze at her. Eliwood, one by one, takes in all of the features slowly coming into existence on Lilina’s face, and then sighs, and Hector shifts. He knows what’s coming. “She looks a lot like Lyn, actually.”

She does. Hector hasn’t gone a single day of his life without noticing that. There are so many things he wishes he could say—that Lyn saw those features, that their son resembled him, that Lilina sees her mother when she looks in the mirror—but knows none of them can be said with all truthfulness, so he just exhales, lets it go and pushes it back down like every time before.

“That she does.” He tries not to notice Eliwood’s guilty stare as his gaze flickers from Lilina to Hector to the floor.

“S-sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“It’s fine—don’t worry about it.” It has to be fine. Hector doesn’t know how he would function otherwise. “I’m fine.” A lie, one that breathes just as easily out of his mouth as every one before it. “It’s been years. You know me.” A bump to Eliwood’s shoulder, as if they are teenagers again, because every lie must at least have a foundation beneath it. “Too much is just enough.”

The lie does not work. Eliwood catches him in the act, because he always has, always _does_ , and his mouth tightens into a line. Hector is a shoddier actor than he would like to admit, so he doesn’t allow either of them time to dwell on it.

“How’s Roy doing?”

Another bad question. Hector sees it in the way Eliwood shifts, the way his eyes flicker up to Roy, who resembles Eliwood so much but embodies Ninian in every single one of his actions, as if her ghost itself weighs him down. Still, Roy and Lilina laugh loudly, unaware of the storm that builds above Bern and will one day surround them, and something in Eliwood relaxes a little bit at the sight of that. Roy is a far different boy than the one Hector remembers seeing all those years ago, and Eliwood is a far different man. They have both grown, in that sense.

Hector’s mind drifts back to Lyn, and he wonders how Eliwood ever managed to do it, to raise a son like this, without a single other soul to depend on and nothing but a handful of forget-me-nots to catch him if he fell.

Eliwood smiles again, still watching the children, and Hector clears his throat. Any answer that was between the two of them has been lost to time, and Hector suspects he knows how Roy is doing, anyway.

“Say, where’re you planning to have Roy study?” he asks.

“...study?” Eliwood echoes, tilting his head with a slight frown. Of all of the habits Eliwood has lost over the years, that is not one of them, and Hector cannot help but be reminded of every study session they had as children, trying to work out problems that he could never quite grasp on his own. “I...Roy’s quite young for that, don’t you think? I hadn’t even thought about it yet.”

Eliwood forgetting things like that is not something he used to do as a child. Hector chooses not to bring that up. He has made enough missteps today already.

“That’s fair, although I’m surprised you hadn’t—you usually like to have things done so far in advance you’ll have someone’s entire life planned out.”

(He says this as if he hasn’t been aware he’s been living to die since he was seventeen, as if every step of his own life does not have a backup plan in case Durban’s warning comes true too soon. With Lyn around, it had been less of an issue—Ostia could have fallen into her hands as regent until Lilina came of age, and that would have been that. Without her, everything has been endlessly more complicated. The carefree air he once gave off has morphed into one that spends all of its free time developing plan upon plan—the only one he actively prays will not come to fruition is that he dies early on and must pass on the Lycian league and its burdens to Eliwood. He cannot do that to his friend. Not after all that has happened to him already.)

Eliwood’s laugh snaps him out of his thoughts. “Maybe so,” he says, and Hector laughs too, and Eliwood smiles, another unreadable look of nostalgia flitting over his face.

Hector clears his throat. There’s still a way to protect Eliwood, and a way to protect Roy while he’s at it.

“In that case, Roy should come study in Ostia when he’s old enough.”

Eliwood shoots him a look of almost-panic, and Hector’s certain he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It’s almost funny. “Oh, Hector, I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“It’s not imposing,” Hector says. It’s really the least he can do. He has to protect Eliwood—he and Lilina and Roy are all he has left, and Hector will not see Roy and Lilina grow up the same way they did, fatherless and pitted against the world, carrying only swords and burdens. He forces a grin on his face. “Consider it my personal invitation.”

He will protect Eliwood and their children, if nothing else.

He will protect them as if it is the last thing he will ever do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WIG im really happy with how this chapter came out folks so i'm really hoping you enjoyed this one too!!! just four chapters left!!! my writing motivation is up too so hopefully this will be done soon !! thank you so much for sticking with me all this way and i'm really hoping it's as much of a joy to read as it is to write !!!
> 
> hector may seem stupid on the outside but this man is BIG FUCKING BRAIN and values his companionships above all else okay and i will die before that is taken away from me
> 
> thank you so much for the support !!!!! see you next chapter !!!


	14. Chapter 14

Eliwood writes Hector to let him know that Roy will be studying in Ostia after all, like he had done so many years ago, and Hector prepares.

He wonders if Eliwood agrees to send him there as a way to protect him, too; both of them are aware of the tension building from within Bern, and he cannot help but think that there’s no way Eliwood would not do everything within his power to keep Roy safe. He would keep Eliwood safe, too, if he could, but Pherae must still have its lord.

Even with his illness, Eliwood will be fine, Hector hopes. He is strong in a way that Hector is not, has always kept his head on his shoulders in a way that even Lyn wasn’t able to. He has faith. He must.

And yet it is his responsibility as leader of the Lycian league to keep the entirety of Lycia safe beneath him, and that includes Pherae, too. Just the concept of doing that during a war is so overwhelming—last time, that responsibility had belonged to Uther. He understands now why Uther hadn’t thrown down his lance immediately to go join the war. There were people he needed to protect, an entire nation that he was responsible for, and things are not quite so simple when you are the one sitting on the throne. He can’t imagine how helpless Uther must have felt watching his brother sneak off, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop him—and yet he knows Uther  _ must _ have been aware that he was doing so, because he had sent Matthew and Oswin after him.

Uther had always seemed to know what he was doing, had filled the throne in a way that Hector still can’t imagine himself doing, even after all these years. His brother had commanded the respect of Ostia, of Lycia, had been able to stare the king of Bern in the face and hold his ground, not only for himself but for his people. Hector had modeled himself off of him, but had done so too little, too late—the throne was never supposed to be his. He was supposed to be Uther’s axe, not his successor.

It was never supposed to be this way.

 

There are letters that must be sent to the other leaders, to the new King Zephiel, to minimize the damage of the war he can already feel coming. He only hopes he can manage to spare Lycia of most of its wrath, to keep his people out of the war’s way. He almost wishes that Eliwood would be there to help him, because he had always been better at diplomacy, had always had the stronger connection with Zephiel, but he must handle this. It is a task he accepted with the throne, and it is his alone.

(Still, his confidence waivers, but no one can know that.)

 

And even aside from political tensions, he must worry about Lilina. Perceptive as she is, there is no way she hasn’t noticed all the late nights, the food that goes uneaten because of work, the stiffness with which he and the other officials begin carrying themselves. There is so much he wishes he could protect her from; from the war, from the world, to steal her away and allow her to live a normal life in which there are no demands for her head, but she has already known far more pain and suffering than she should have.

Sometimes, he catches her staring at the few portraits of Lyn ever made, simply because she always wished to be on her feet, insisted she had more to do than sit still for hours at a time, and he wonders if she remembers her, or if Lyn is yet another passing face, a memory sitting on the tip of her tongue that will soon be swallowed down with everything else.

He is concerned for her. He is concerned for the wistfulness behind her eyes, the sadness in her sweet smile, for the way her fingers wring at her wrists whenever the other marquesses call her a child. He worries in the way that a father does when he is concerned his daughter does not value her enough.

And he is scared—he is scared, because he remembers Durban’s warning, and he is scared because he knows that war is coming, and he is scared because he knows the time he has left is precious little. Once, he hadn’t cared; once, war was all he had ever known, and he would have given his life that instant had Eliwood or Lyn asked him to, because there had been his brother to take care of Ostia and the rest of the world for everything else, and all he had needed to know was how to swing an axe and sneak ale from the older nights and cook on the road. Once, he had asked for a son, because he had been scared he was too indelicate to handle a daughter; he thinks he may have been right. He wouldn’t trade Lilina for the world, but he is so,  _ so _ scared he is failing her, that he is not the father she wishes he would be.

 

Tensions with Bern continue rising, and Roy is on his way to Ostia, and Hector has heard reports of Zephiel’s sanity beginning to slip from his spies, whispers of reviving dragons and conquering the continent, and it feels as if Elibe is about to slide off of the edge of the most precarious cliff it has ever known. He knows it will take him with it if it does, so he spends as much time with Lilina as he can.

It is the little things she appreciates, he knows. It is the sweets he brings her when he returns from the market, it is the books and tomes he will scrounge up for her from the older storerooms when she has finished her current ones, it is the ruffling of her hair and the hand on her shoulder.

She has a habit, when she is tired and resting against him after a long day, of splaying her hand against his, analyzing every line on his palm and how they line up with hers. Every time, he cannot help but notice how  _ small _ her hands are, how warm and delicate and young she is. He wonders what she thinks about when she does that, the goings-on of her mind that she writes in her diary and then charms away so no one can see. Sometimes, she traces the scars that criss-cross his hands with a look that seems infinitely older than she is, and he wonders if one day, her hands will look like this, weapon-worn and calloused; he wonders if she will grow up the same way he did, fighting for his life on the battlefield, forced to become an adult before he had even perfected his table manners.

(He doubts he would have actually perfected his etiquette anyway. He still sees the court titter at dinner sometimes when he rests an elbow on the table by accident or laughs too loudly while eating his food, but he is the marquess of Ostia, so he can do what he wants.

Uther would frown at that statement. Lyn would laugh.

He wonders what Lilina will do, when she is old enough to realize what he is doing wrong.)

Despite how much of an adult she seems at such a young age, she still falls asleep against his side sometimes, his great hand still held in hers, and she is still so light, childlike enough that he can pick her up and bring her back to her bed, tuck her in under the covers as if she is still the child she was when Lyn was alive. 

Every day, she resembles her mother more.

Every day, war creeps closer.

Every day, Durban’s promise rings louder.

Every day, Hector wonders whether Lilina will see him or Lyn in the mirror after he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW it's been a hot second since i've updated twice in one weekend omg !! just three chapters left after this one !! if you're noticing the darker themes in the chapters.......have fun bc hector sure won't :^)
> 
> he and lilina are absolutely so touching and they really don't get to spend that much time together in fe6 which is a CRIME because he's her dad and he loves her so much and this is just the law!!! also her supports make me SO emo bc she really is concerned about being a good leader much in the same way that i would imagine hector is, as he definitely carries more anxiety abt being marquess than he lets on, and tends to demean himself for not being as good as uther in some respects (his whole thing abt "besides, the marquess' brother is a well known lout)
> 
> i just think abt hector a lot and want him to be happy but intsys said no and now we here :^(
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this chapter of hector being a dad!!!!! thank you so much for the support and see you next chapter!!


	15. Chapter 15

Hector personally goes to greet Roy when he arrives, Lilina tagging along with him and clutching his hand in hers. She is practically bouncing with excitement, which only makes Hector a little apprehensive, because she will only be a little girl for so long, and he would like to hold onto that for as long as he can. He isn’t even out the door when Lilina lets go of his hand and goes to greet him, calling out an “oh, Roy!” as she strides forth, and he can’t help but smile sadly; she’s growing up. Hector sighs and then follows her, watching as Roy slides off his horse and hugs her. They exchange a couple words that Hector can’t quite hear before making it to the castle entrance, where Roy greets him and waves Marcus off before bounding inside.

Just before he closes the door, he and Marcus exchange a look, and Marcus grins at him.

They’re both older now, and so are Roy and Lilina—

—they’ve all grown up so fast.

 

Roy eats dinner with them, and his mannerisms are so similar to Eliwood’s that it almost feels like he’s on the trail again. Everything about him reminds him of his father, except for his eyes, which are distinctly Ninian’s. Lilina and Roy are bickering about who would be better at magic until Roy grumbles that Lady Cecilia forced him to train with the sword instead, and Hector gives a bellow of a laugh.

“You’re just like your father, did you know that?” he asks. Roy gives him a shocked look for a fraction of a second before it melts away into a smile that Hector is already so familiar with, just on a different face.

“I would like to think so,” he says, and his eyes dart between Hector and Lilina as she excuses herself and Hector scruffles her hair. Her face scrunches up when he does so, withholding a laugh, before telling him she loves him and then exiting the room. Roy clears his throat.

“Marquess Ostia—”

“Please call me Lord Hector. Marquess Ostia is too formal.”

It’s both a lie and also not. On the one hand, he’s never been one for formalities, especially not with his own best friend’s son; on the other, referring to himself as Marquess Ostia still feels strange, feels unnatural. It is a title that best belonged to Uther, not to himself.

“Lord Hector, then—is it really alright if I call you that?” Roy winces at the informality of it, and Hector sees another flash of Eliwood, but chooses not to comment, waving a hand nonchalantly. “Do you think my father will be okay?”

“Oh, Eliwood?” Hector pauses and tilts his head. He wants to say yes, that Eliwood in his prime could fight off the entirety of Bern single-handedly, but in truth, there’s probably not a soul alive who could do that anymore. It takes him a moment to process that he’s asking about Eliwood’s health, not the war, and then he laughs again, because it is easier to laugh through it than to think about the alternative. Roy does not need to hear the alternative. For Roy’s sake, he must be alright. “Don’t worry about your old man so much. Eliwood may be frail, but he’s by no means weak. Have a little faith in him.”

“Thank you,” Roy says, concern lacing his gaze, and Hector nods.

“Trust me.” It is more of a reassurance to himself than to Roy, because he would have brought Eliwood to Ostia as well, if he could have. “Eliwood would not let his health get in the way—not in times like these.”

He does not mention how Eliwood had all but fallen apart when Ninian had died, and does not mention how he had nearly done the same thing at Lyn’s passing. He does not mention the unspoken reason both of them had agreed that Roy should study in Ostia. He does not mention how it isn’t exactly Eliwood’s choice to be sick. He does not mention every passing faintness he had once suffered on the battlefield, and he most _certainly_ does not mention Athos’ warning.

Still, Roy gazes at him as if he knows that Hector is hiding something, and Hector is almost frightened by the wisdom in Roy’s eyes, the knowledge of someone that is far older than he is, the same look he sees in Lilina.

He knows that this is the boy he once dreamed about, sweeping the girl who he now knows is his daughter off of her feet, and he knows that one day, the world will rest on this boy’s shoulders. His only hope is to make that load a little lighter—he has so little time left, and so much to prepare.

“Roy,” he says, and Roy looks at him, turns that piercing gaze to meet his, and he is a child and yet not at the same time. “Please forgive me if I cannot protect you and Lilina.”

“Lord Hector?”

He cannot explain. The look goes away, replaced by innocent confusion, and Hector cannot bring himself to explain everything, to tell a _child_ things that he hasn’t told Eliwood, things he wasn’t even able to tell Lyn, and so he doesn’t, only hopes he will understand when the time comes.

“Nevermind. Think nothing of it,” Hector says, and then he leaves.

 

-

 

The years pass, and Hector begins to change his mind as he hears report after report of Bern assembling its army from afar. Correspondence with Eliwood only furthers his inconfidence in his original decision, and dread gnaws at his gut constantly. Things are beginning to fall through. He was wrong.

He receives a letter from Eliwood to give to Roy, and he knows exactly what it is the moment it is placed in his hands. He had practically told Eliwood to write it, after all; a request for Roy to return home to Pherae, and to bring Lilina with him.

Bern’s battle plans have changed. Ilia and Sacae have been conquered; Ostia is next. They had thought it would be Pherae, to conquer Lycia from the outside in, but King Zephiel is merciless. He has chosen to destroy their country from the inside out.

Zephiel’s troops have already made their way in, already march for the armored city, already have their axes set for the young heirs’ heads. Hector and Eliwood have already decided that they must be relocated to somewhere safer. Roy and Lilina do not have much of a choice in the matter, and they both are smart enough to understand that, even if they do not fully understand why. Roy and Lilina share a glance at each other, and then at a glance at Hector, and he dismisses them to go pack their bags, a hand as reassuring as he can make it placed on both of their shoulders.

Lycia will come together, he tells them. It always has. It always will.

It must, but he does not add that.

 

While Roy is still packing, Lilina arrives in the doorway of his office, eyes wet with unshed tears. He stands up and embraces her, holds her close, because he does not know when—does not know _if_ —he will get to do this again.

“Father,” she whispers, and he pulls her tighter, and she begins to cry. “Is this the end?”

Not for you, he wants to say. It has been the end for a long time for him, but he cannot tell her that. He is her father. He must be strong—be strong for _her_ —until the very end itself. He cannot let her down.

“No,” he says, and it is not a lie, but it is not a truth that is in his hands. Still, he has faith in her. He must. He looks into her eyes, his and Lyn’s all at the same time and yet also her own, and he sees the future, an Ostia he will only be the foundation of, an entire world he will not be around to see. He swallows, and she tenses against him, crying into his chest the way she had as a little girl. “No. It is not the end.”

“I love you, Father.”

A hair scruffle. A kiss to the top of her head. Another moment of embracing her, protecting her from the world, making sure she cannot be hurt if only for a second longer.

“I love you too.”

“I must finish packing,” she says, and then she pulls away, and she is gone.

 

And then they are out of Ostia, and Hector steels himself.

He is not a fool. Zephiel intends to claim Hector’s head first, and he knows this. Zephiel is not from Lycia, does not know that all of the marquisates will come together in defense of each other, underestimates their history—but Hector cannot pretend that he will make it out of this alive, either.

He always knew it would come down to this. There was never another way—he may be Marquess Ostia, but he was always Hector first. It is only fitting that he should go down like this, even if he would have preferred to live an abominably long time and go out with Lilina beside him.

No, he was never meant for a destiny like that, and he assured that himself.

He no longer has Armads with him, but even so, he will fight as long as he can, buy enough time for the rest of Lycia to unite and win a future for their children, for _Lilina_ —

—and he begins to formulate his battle plan, to make Ostia into the fortress city it has always been known to be, because he will be damned if Hector of Ostia does not go down without a fight, and it will be a damn good fight at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two uploads in a day!!!! it's been a hot second since i've written this much but MAN it feels GOOD,, i was absolutely overcome with the sheer love of hector fireemblem and needed to do him rampant justice
> 
> thank you so much for all the support as we approach the end of the fic !! i really appreciate everyone continuing to read my work and it makes me really happy to know that this fic is bringing joy to people also ;;v;; i hope it's as much of a joy to read as it is to write!! see you next chapter!!


	16. Chapter 16

Hector does not know how long it has been since he last slept.

 

Every time he closes his eyes for longer than a second, he is plagued by nightmares of his own death; Dragon Generals, King Zephiel himself, visions of Roy arriving just a second too late, and he knows it’s too late for him. He’s never been one to be religious; St. Elimine, bless her, has never meant anything to him. The only thing he’s ever had faith in is his own hands and the axe that rests between them, but Hector cannot help but believe in these dreams, terrible as they may be.

He isn’t a stranger to them. In the past, he dreamt of Lilina, and Eliwood had laughed as he had told him about it, and yet that future had come to pass with all certainty. He wonders if Uther had had them, if his parents had, if his entire family had seen their ends coming far before they actually met them.

What a horrible way to go.

 

He can’t bring himself to return to his quarters; Bern marches closer on the daily, and he would rather not make a fool of himself by being killed in his sleep. Instead, he awaits his death on the throne that was always too big for him, steadying an axe between his hands and trying to minimize casualties as much as possible. He has sent out all of the young soldiers; the older ones stay, because they might as well still try, but he refuses to send children to their deaths. He had protested strongly at the notion that he should be left in the throne room as his soldiers die to protect him, but he knows that dying a death on the front lines is the sole privilege that the Marquess of Ostia is not afforded, and was told as much by the same soldiers he knows will be the first on the enemy’s axe. He hates it, but he must stay in the throne room. It is the better alternative.

Matthew is the sole soldier who stays by his side instead of stationed somewhere within the castle, flipping a dagger between his fingers with the tactfulness that only comes from a lifetime of thievery. He has even told Matthew to escape, should things take a turn for the worse. He will not bring down others with him.

 

Hector only hopes that Roy and Lilina have not run into any trouble, and that they are smart enough to stay far, far away from Ostia until the time comes that they are strong enough to reclaim it.

He wishes he could have done more for them—despite three years of panicking as he watched Lilina steadily but surely develop a crush on Roy, he had truly come to love the Pheraen lordling like a son, and Lilina—his Lilina...

There is so much more he wishes he could have told her.

 

He wishes he could have seen her grow up, become an adult and leave behind the teenager shell she had just barely fit into by the time he sent her off. He wishes he could have seen her master magic, see her do more simple tricks that she always knew would make him smile, fill the castle with more tomes that she always read faster than she could find more of. He wishes he could see her fall in love with Roy for real, not just a puppy-crush. He wishes he could have grown old watching her grow older, see her take up the throne, watch her guide Ostia with a steadier hand than he ever had. He wishes he could walk her down the aisle, cry at her dress, cry at her vows, cry because she is happy and that is all he has ever wanted for her. He wishes he could have lived a long and fulfilled life and die knowing he had been there beside her the whole time, that there was not a moment she needed him where he wasn’t there, that as a father, he had been enough.

Knowing that he will not be able to do any of these things slices into him deeper and hurts worse than the axe he knows is coming.

 

Matthew reappears, sees him staring at the floor, and coughs lightly to announce his presence. His face is wrought with dread. Hector does not like it.

“They are an hour’s march away, my lord.”

He does not know what to say, and so he nods. Matthew leaves. The crimson of his cloak reminds him of the day Lilina received her mage’s uniform, how proud she had been and how she had insisted he see her in it.

He will never see her again, and he knows it, so he pictures her, tries to remember her as she once was, as she is now, as she will be in the future. Her long hair, so much like her mother’s, her smile, her delicate hands she had always splayed against his, once upon a time. The clothes she liked best, and the ones she wore with pride anyway because he had picked them out for her. Her laugh, timid and bubbly all at once, and her warmth when she would fall asleep against him. The way she cried as a young child when she scraped her knee—

—the way she will cry when she hears he is gone.

And for once, Hector cries.

The feeling is foreign. He did not cry for his parents, did not cry for Uther, did not even cry for Lyn, and yet he cries for his daughter, who will be alive and living when he is not. The notion of causing her pain is unimaginable. There will be days when she needs him that he is not there—he will not be able to hold her hand forever, and she will love him, and he will be gone. There will be times where Lilina will need a father and he will not be able to provide. There will be times when the only hand she will be able to take is her own, and there will be times where she is hurting and he cannot make it better.

He cries for this. He cries for _her_. He cries for the future he will not see, all the bad things he will not be able to protect her from, all the bad things he has been unable to shield her from already. He cries for the “I love you”s he will no longer be able to tell her.

He cries because he is her father, and she is his daughter, and he will be gone.

 

It feels like years off of his chest. It is nice and horrible at the same time; he feels at peace in a way he would not wish upon anyone. He has come to terms with his own death, and that is terrible.

He can hear the clanking of armor from outside the castle already, the roaring of wyverns and the crackling of tomes, and he sends Matthew away without a second thought. He can feel it in his blood: the end has come.

Even so, he steadies his hands on his axe, rises from the throne into the fighting stance he has taken on so many times before in his life, one that he’s always fit into just a bit too naturally, one he was once eager to sink into again.

He would give anything to live the rest of his life without touching a weapon ever again, but the time for that wish has come and gone. He would give more than anything to reunite with his daughter and embrace her once more, and to have a future in which he can always see her smile.

He lifts his axe, watches as Brunnya and Narcian make their way into the throne room, already bloody from the soldiers they had decimated without a second thought.

They give him a chance to ready himself. This is a mistake.

Still, Hector smiles. He will win this. He will make it out alive.

He must.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE CHAPTER LEFT... i should hopefully be able to get it up tomorrow night !!!! thank you so much for your patience + continued support over this fic !! i'll have a super long thing typed out on the final chapter, but it really does mean so so much to me and i will always be eternally grateful for it ;;v;;
> 
> also: hector finally letting it out over his daughter of all people almost made me cry while writing this so i really hope it came across super emotionally too lol
> 
> i really hope you liked this chapter!! thank you so much for the continued support, and see you on the next chapter!! :"^)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick blood/violence warning for this chapter!!

Brunnya and Narcian lay bloodied on the ground in front of him, panting and nursing their wounds from as much of a distance as he is willing to give them. Hector would attack them again were he not a man of mercy. Narcian, despite all the taunts he threw during the fight, screams and cries like a child, dragging himself back to his wyvern and cursing Hector’s name with every step. Brunnya clutches her tome, the pages wet with blood, pretending as if she can afford to throw another spell at him; she will not. Hector can see the spasms running up her arm, the way her frostbitten skin blisters at the tips of her fingers, and he knows that if she dares use another spell without resting, she will pass out—or worse.

He is bleeding heavily, his armor is ruined, and the entire throne room has been spattered with blood, but he is still alive.

There is a chance he will see his daughter again.

Narcian’s wyvern roars and dives at him again, wings crashing against the ceiling, against the pillars, knocking rubble everywhere—Hector lifts his axe and swings it, feeling its blade tear through sinew and tissue, trying to ignore its scream as it hits the ground and its wing crunches wetly beneath it. Narcian screams again, curses, clutches at Brunnya, who stumbles backwards, acknowledging her defeat.

Brunnya is noble, Hector thinks. He imagines, if she were in his position, she would send all of her soldiers home, too. Her somberness, her regret, her apologies as her magic had thrown him about the room—it reminds him a bit of Lilina.

He wishes she were not on Bern’s side.

And then, she does what he does not expect her to do—she lifts her arm and slaps it to her tome, and ice pierces his armor as if it were nothing more than a sheet of paper and tears through his weapon arm. His axe clatters to the floor, and a gush of blood follows it. He screams, but his teeth are gritted so tight that nothing comes out. Brunnya’s tome falls to the ground—

—the way it sits open reminds him of Lilina’s tomes, open and scattered around her room, and he winces—

—and in that moment, Narcian’s wyvern rushes at him, breaking the ice that splintered through his arm and sending Hector to the ground, where its red-leaking jaws loom over his throat. Its broken wing flaps uselessly through the air as if teasing him about his own arm. The wyvern, at least, still has its jaws as a weapon. Hector is helpless. Narcian shrieks a laugh as Brunnya pulls herself to her feet, collecting her tome—

—and suddenly Lilina is gone, and her open tomes are once again nothing more than a memory—

—and then she escapes outside, and Hector howls a curse at Narcian, at his gods-forsaken wyvern, at Bern, at himself, and then admits defeat.

His last hope is that Zephiel will be merciful, that maybe he will be used as a pawn until he recovers and can kill Zephiel with his own two hands, but he has heard the rumors, has seen what Zephiel has done. The prince they once protected with their very lives has absolutely lost his mind. He speaks openly about reviving dragons as if Nergal had not nearly destroyed Lycia twenty years earlier doing the exact same thing, spat as venomously as he could at Lycia as if Lycia is not the reason he is alive at all.

Narcian collects himself in the corner, eyes bulging and crazed, and laughs as if Hector hadn’t had his head a minute ago. The entire situation is so _bitter_ —bested by a combination of a dragon and ice magic, sent after him by the very child he had risked everything to save. He could have avoided this situation had he, Eliwood and Lyn not been so damn merciful. Had they been just a bit more focused, had they not needed the legendary weapons so badly, had they not been so reluctant to place others in danger, they could have avoided this.

All this for the price of a single child’s life.

Lyn and Eliwood would be horrified at him for saying this—they would tell him there was no way that they could have seen this coming, that it was impossible to know that it would be like this. Eliwood would smile at him. Lyn would take his hand, squeeze it gently, hug him the way she always did when things weren’t turning out. They would tell him that it was okay—that the three of them are together, that they can weather any hardship. That things will be alright, and that they can move forward.

But Eliwood is sick, Lyn is dead, and he is dying. They are not the children they once were, running free and capable of anything. They are older, felled by the same things that they once swore they were impervious to, and Hector is tired of it. He is tired of the pain, tired of the loss, tired of having to blink away the blurriness as the blood continues to pool out from beneath his arm. He is tired of losing everyone he loves. He is angry at losing the future he fought so hard for. He is scared for his daughter, scared for his friend’s son. He is tired of the world being threatened again and again and again. He is tired of not being able to guarantee his family’s happiness. He is tired of not being enough. He is bitter and angry and horrified and bleeding out, and his vision is spinning and he is nauseous, and there is still a _very_ pissed wyvern leaning over him and snapping at his throat, and he has lost. Nothing matters. Nothing ever mattered—once, he believed it had, and then things had turned out like this despite all of their trying. He is so, _so_ tired of playing the hero. He is tired of saving children that grow up to become monsters.

The world did not care when it was their lives on the line, so Hector will say it:

He wishes they had let him die.

(He wants to cry, but he will not give Narcian the satisfaction of seeing that.)

 

And suddenly, the wyvern is off of him, and Brunnya’s hands are around his, magic crackling threateningly around his throat, which he finds pointless—his weapon arm is damn near falling off, it’s not like he can _do_ anything—and he is brought forth before Zephiel for a conversation he can’t really comprehend, just words spilling out of his mouth that he has no control over. He curses Zephiel, questions his actions, gets even more confused at Zephiel’s urge to “liberate the world”—it is as if no one remembers Nergal, no one remembers Eliwood’s father, no one remembers what they did, the war they fought themselves just barely two decades ago. His head is spinning, and his vision is going in and out, and then he is passed into the custody of some faceless soldier, and Brunnya mentions something about returning to Sacae, and Hector would laugh if he didn’t think he would cough up blood.

Brunnya, the mage, will return to Sacae.

He remembers when he and Lyn had brought Lilina, how they had laid in the field and the entire world had opened up before them. He remembers the promise of a second child, how everything had been perfect, if only for a moment, and he remembers having that all torn away from him in an instant. He finds it _horribly_ ironic that Brunnya could have been Lilina, just born a little later and in a different place. He finds it horribly ironic that Brunnya gets to do what she and Lyn did not, that she may return to Sacae, that she gets to live when Lyn did not, when Lilina’s life is still on the line.

What did she do that they did not?

And then she questions Zephiel, asks if this is really the right decision, and he sees _so_ much of Lilina in her, desperately wants to ask her to leave because she _knows_ that she is not on the right side, desperately wants to be with his _daughter_ in his last moments instead of Zephiel—

—that would have been a trade for Zephiel’s life that was actually worth making—

—and the soldier is kicking him to his feet, and his arm is bleeding everywhere, and every step makes him wish death would come just a little bit faster, because Elimine, this is _terrible_. He is brought outside, around, and then back into the castle to the dungeons, which, in his delirium, he thinks is vaguely ironic—at least he can die in the comfort of his own castle, even if in a different room—and he’s fairly certain he’s hallucinating, because was that Chad he saw?—and then he is on the ground in a cell, and the only thing running through his mind is an apology to Lilina.

He would give anything to see her one last time, but he would never wish for her to see him like this.

He understands why Uther concealed his illness from him now.

 

-

 

He never imagined death would be this prolonged.

Certainly, he can’t have been in the dungeons for that long, but he suspects something about the magic Brunnya used is slowing the bleeding—her version of mercy, he supposes, or cruelty.

Perhaps it’s just his sense of time that’s warping. Everything else seems to be. The ringing in his ears is getting continually louder, and his vision is going white, and he swears he can see everyone he’s lost, see his parents, see Uther, see _Lyn_ in the corners of his eyes, if only for a moment before they disappear. His heart is pounding, but he can barely feel it. Breathing is difficult.

He just wants to sleep.

There are two things that keep him awake—the first is the sound of clashing swords, which he would question more if he weren’t so focused on not dying.

The second is Lilina. He can’t even form a coherent thought anymore, just wants to see her again—would give anything to see her smile one last time, to clasp her hand in his and actually hold it instead of just pressing it against hers. He wonders if she will be at his funeral. If there will even be a funeral for him.

He almost laughs. He’s dying in armor.

“Corrupt neither the body nor the mind”, as Uther once told him.

One must never be weak, not even when facing death.

 

He wonders if Lyn felt like this. She had died in his arms, at least, but the blood was the same, or at least he imagines it was. But Lyn—Lyn had been so _upset_. She had been sobbing, even. He remembers walking into the room, fear gnawing at every bone in his body, his stomach dropping at the sight of her blue lips and unsteady gaze, how pale she had been.

Hector wonders if he looks like that.

He wonders if Lilina remembers, how he had returned and broke the news to her, how he had stared blankly while her innocent child mind had tried to process that her mother was gone, how she had buried her face in his chest and sobbed when things had finally clicked. He wonders if she remembers what he looked like before Lyn died, before he stopped caring about shaving. He wonders if she even remembers her mother’s touch, what it’s like to have a mother at all.

He wonders if one day, she will forget what it’s like to have a father.

His heart is pounding. So is his head, which feels like it’s being split in half with a raging headache. He’s not—he’s not _alive_ enough to be having thoughts like this. He just wants to see her again. He would give anything to see her again. He just wants to hold her, hug her.

He remembers, when she was a child, she would ask about his scars. He would explain the stories behind them as if he were a prince in some fairy tale. Perhaps he could tell her about his arm—about why her father can no longer wield an axe, why the throne room is tinged red.

She had always believed him to be a hero, even when the stories were not always about him. She had always smiled as he dramatized his escapades, had insisted Mama be more serious when she had laughed at Hector making getting some stolen goods back from some pirate into a much bigger deal than it actually was.

He misses that. He misses _her_. He just wants to hold her, to tell her that he is here, that he will never leave again.

He is so tired. He just wants to sleep.

He wants to see her more.

Everything hurts. His vision is blurry. His head is pounding. His ears are ringing. He can’t feel his arm, or his hand. He misses the feeling of Lilina’s hand in his. He wonders if he will ever feel her hand in his again, if he would even be _able_ to if he survives this.

He will not survive this. He already knows this.

Lilina.

There is nothing Hector would not give to see her again. To die without her is a crueler death than he ever could have imagined.

Lilina.

Lilina.

Breathing is painful, and it is labored, and it would be so much easier to just _die_ , but—Lilina—

 

Hector is struggling to keep his eyes open, but the sound of swords clashing stops and is instead replaced by light footsteps, which is just enough of a change to stay awake for a moment longer. A flash of red hair appears in the doorway, and at first, he panics, because he assumes they have somehow captured Eliwood, that all is truly over for Lycia, and that they have failed their children once and for all. He blinks, and the image comes into clarity: Roy. It’s Roy. Bloodied, certainly looking a bit older than when Hector last saw him, but Roy without question. His face is wrought with panic, with dread, with despair.

Elimine, he looks so much like Ninian, so much like Eliwood. An entire story in one boy.

He must say Roy’s name, because Roy’s face suddenly changes, gaze shifting as if he suddenly recognizes the man dying in front of him, as if he didn’t before.

“Lord Hector!” There is unimaginable pain in his voice. Hector wonders what Roy has been through already, what more he has to go through. The guilt eats at him. He couldn’t protect them after all. Roy does not seem to care, starts shifting his pauldron to examine his arm, and then inhales sharply. “What an awful wound—we must treat it!” And then, Roy is slipping an arm beneath him, as if a child could ever carry Hector’s weight, the weight of all the things he has done and lives he has taken, lives he has been unable to save. “Here, lean on my shoulder—”

Roy is getting blood on his arm. Every breath is searing pain. Hector squeezes his eyes shut.

“No, it’s alright—I won’t last much longer—”

“Lord Hector...”

He sounds as if he is crying, or as if he is about to. It’s a terrible situation to think about this, but Hector is glad that Roy at least is capable of that, despite all the things he’s gone through. It is a sign of strength, a privilege. Hector cannot remember when he lost it.

He might as well be useful in his last moments, so Hector tells him about Bern, tells him about the dragons, like a father passing on a story to his son. He does not tell him about how he knows the dragons existed, does not tell him about Ninian. It is not his story to tell. But Hector finds it ironic that this boy, with the blood of the last of the dragons running through his veins, should hear this story from him, unaware of the tale that lead to his existence.

He coughs. Blood spatters against the front of his armor. Roy calls out his name again, and his voice cracks.

He is still just a child.

Hector could not protect him, but he will be damned if he will go out without giving Lycia a fighting chance.

“Roy—go to Ostia! You must—”

—this could be a mistake, Hector thinks—  
“—lead what is left of the Lycian Alliance Army—”

—still, he will not be deterred; he cannot have come this far only for his efforts to die here—

“—in my place.”

Roy’s expression shatters. He looks broken. He looks like Lilina.

“...me? But—”

“Don’t worry—in Ostia, we have a weapon that is effective against the dragons.”

He remembers the pain these weapons have caused in the past.

It dawns on him that this is the outcome of Durban’s warning, that this is the fate he condemned himself to all those years ago. This is what it means to wield a legendary weapon. To wield Armads.

Roy will condemn someone to that same fate, whether he knows it or not.

Hector only hopes it will not be Lilina.  
Roy’s voice wavers when he speaks again. There are tears streaming down his cheeks. “...a weapon?”

“I have already told Lilina where it is hidden,” he manages, and then he stops himself. This is the fate he condemned Lilina to. Lilina knows where Durandal is. She is the one who will guide Roy to the weapon that once killed his mother, and neither of them may even know. Still, it is a bitter, bitter duty. He inhales. As much as Roy is a child, she still is, too. She is more than capable of taking care of herself, but Hector only desires for her to have someone to protect her, someone to confide in, someone who would lay their very life on the line for her—someone to raise a daughter, to raise _his_ daughter when he cannot, to watch over her until she is her own woman, until she can let go of their hand in place of his and stand on her own.

Hector almost smiles. She has always been able to stand on her own—she has always, _always_ been more than he is, always been meant for a greater destiny, and he has always known that. He only desires for her to have someone there by her side along the way.

He dreamt once that it would be Roy. He supposes he was right all along.

“Take care of her, too,” he tells him, and he doesn’t see the look of fear, the look of not being enough in Roy’s eyes, but he knows it’s there. He had felt like that once, too. Lilina is more of a gift than he knew what to do with. “She may seem strong, but she is still a child—give her your support.”

He just wants her to be happy. That’s all he wants. He just wants to see her be happy.

It’s all he wants.

He needs Roy to understand. Every fiber of his being desperately needs Roy to understand.

Roy takes his hand, squeezes it. It is not Lilina’s hand, but it is someone’s, close enough to remember what hers felt like in his.

Roy understands.

“...yes, I will,” he says, and his voice is clear, fueled by something that was not there before.

For an instant, Hector sees the Lycia that will succeed him, the Elibe that he will not be there to see, and it is peaceful. Lilina is there, and she is safe. It is all he can ask for.

“Lilina—”

She is all he could have ever asked for. There is nothing more he wanted in life.

“One more time—”

He loves her. He loves her so much. He has never loved anyone more. He just wants her to be happy. It is all he can ask.

He groans, and Roy shouts his name, and the world slips away, and there is only emptiness.

He is gone.

 

-

 

_“Are you sure I should hold her?”_

_“Hector, please. You may be a brute, but you’re not that much of a brute. You’re her father. Just hold her like this—”_

_Lyn places their daughter in his arms, eyes twinkling as she smiles at him, and Hector’s heart melts. She is so small, so precious in his arms. Someone he has loved since before she even existed, someone he will love until the end of time._

_He has fought in countless battles, wielded legendary weapons, slain dragons from another world, and yet it feels as if his entire life has culminated into this moment, this pocket of time in which he is merely existing as a father with his daughter asleep in his arms._

_Lyn laughs and slips a hand across the underside of his jaw, presses a gentle kiss to his lips, and he wishes this moment could last forever—him, his wife, his daughter in his arms, as if nothing in the world could ever harm them or tear them apart._

_This is what it means to have something to protect, Hector realizes, because he is not alone anymore, has a family—_

_—and for once, Hector smiles, because everything has found its place._

_For the first time, he is really, truly happy, and that on its own is more than enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY.........IT IS DONE.........HECTOR IM SORRY I LVOE YOU SO MUCH
> 
> AKNGSK i really don't know what to write but i just want to say thank you so much for reading all the way through this fic!!!!!! i started writing this almost immediately after finishing to raise a son, and at some points, it was somewhat of a slog to get through--but looking at this fic all the way through, i'm so so glad i wrote it. i feel like my writing improved a lot, and i've met some absolutely wonderful people through this fic and its predecessor, and the amount of love ive received on both is absolutely insane!!!!! not to be cheesy lol but it makes me so so so happy that something i enjoy is able to bring this much emotion and joy into other people's lives, and it means more to me than i can ever express that there are genuinely people who have been following my writing since i posted the first chapter to to raise a son literally over a year ago. that is so insane!!!!!! the amount of support i've received on these two fics has been so inspiring for me to not only continue writing but also just generally for things in life and i really have no way of expressing how much that means to me :"""^)))
> 
> with the characters individually ,,,, i have SO MUCH LOVE for the fe7 protags and i think they are massively underappreciated and tend to be generalized so much into simple aspects of their personality when really they're so much deeper than that!!!!!!! and i'm really glad i decided to write for them, because i think all three of them are EXCELLENT characters and the game really means so much to me after having finally decided to play it during a time in my life in which i really needed it lol but!!!! i really hope i did hector justice!!!!!! hes just a dude with some repressed emotions and a whole lot of love for his friends and wife and daughter and you know what i can respect that!!!!! it was also super fun to write a fic with an overall much darker theme—hector’s story may end here, but if you’re looking for the rest of what happens with roy + lilina + eliwood, please check out this fic’s predecessor, to raise a son! that has the much sweeter ending kdjdk (which hector and lyn do appear in!!)
> 
> i don't think i'll write another longfic for a hot second but you will most definitely see me around the tags!!! i definitely want to write more heclyn + elinini (and maybe some elihec??) in the future, so i hope i bump into yall on those fics also, as well as fics i write for 3h!!!!! i also wanted to give a special thank you to my serial commenters lol--reading you guys' comments without fail on like every chapter was absolutely insane and made me get the BEST WARM FUZZIES and i really cherish you guys !!!! if you want to Hang Out, you can find me on twitter @jellijeans !!!!
> 
> now that im done plugging lmao from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much for all your support!!!!!! since this is the last chapter, i hope to see you around !!! ;;v;;

**Author's Note:**

> hgnsjksgns after all the success to raise a son had i also wanted to try out a companion fic focused more around hector + heclyn !! i hope everyone likes this just as much as they did with to raise a son ;;v;; (which if you haven't read it and like elinini, i would super appreciate you taking a peek !!) this one will probably be shorter, but i hope you enjoy it all the same!
> 
> thank you so much for the support !! i hope you'll continue reading!!
> 
> edit: i made some minor changes to the punctuation!! thank you for bearing with me!!


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